Evanescence
by Amelia's
Summary: Snape is surprised by a familiar face at the latest Dark Revel. Will the consequences of a single act of mercy be greater than he could imagine?
1. Just Another Mudblood, Eh Severus?

Title: Evanescence  
Author: Amelia  
E-mail: meadora@yahoo.com  
Summary: Snape is surprised by a familiar face at the latest Dark   
Revel. Will the consequences of a single act of mercy be greater than   
he could imagine?  
Rating: Oh hell, I dunno - Hmm...guess I'll make it R for disturbing   
imagery and the occasional swear word. Doubt I'll get to graphic sex   
in this one. Sorry, kiddies.  
Category: SS/HG - if you don't like it, don't read.  
Notes: This is my first HP fanfic, so go easy on me. Answer to Picture   
the Story 2 challenge for the Just Another Mudblood picture on WIKTT   
mailing list.   
Feedback: The quick and easy way to have a shrine erected in your honor!   
Anti-litigation Charm: My initials are not J.K.R., I don't have kids,   
and I've never been to England. What, you want more? Fine - I am most   
emphatically NOT the creator of these characters, I am writing this   
without permission, and I'm not making any money WHATSOEVER from the   
creation of this little fallacy. For the love of Merlin, please don't   
sue me. Harry Potter & Co. property of J. K. Rowlings.  
  
Chapter One: Just Another Mudblood, Eh Severus?   
  
Dark eyes sourly regard the last vestiges of expensive scotch filming   
the bottom of the tumbler; a bottle of Glenn Morangie's finest is   
lifted, then poured. The sharp lines of the cut glass reflect the   
honeyed gleam of its contents onto his fingers as he brings it to his   
mouth, miniature rainbows dancing over his skin. Is this the fourth   
drink he's imbibed tonight, or the seventh? He's lost count and it   
scarcely matters. All that is important is that the alcohol is finding   
its way out of the bottle and into him.   
  
If a tremor disturbs his hand as he lowers the glass, there's no one   
there to see.   
  
It's quiet in the dungeons at this time of night. There were times   
when he would have considered the silence restful. If he were feeling   
particularly generous, he might even have been moved to call it   
peaceful. Those nights were few and far between - tonight it was just   
oppressive. Whimsically, he thinks that he would give almost anything   
for Potter to go tramping by in his thrice-blasted cloak just to have   
a reprieve from the thoughts this stillness was breeding.   
  
He cringes when it belatedly occurs to him that SHE was almost guaranteed   
to be included in any of that boy's nocturnal wanderings, and suddenly   
the hush seems more bearable. Preferable, even.   
  
His musings turn to irony - and how when you try desperately not to   
think of a topic, it's the one and only issue your mind fixates on.   
It's a bitter humour though, and does not even raise a ghost of a   
smile, because that thought well and truly cements the suggestion of   
her in his consciousness. Now any alcohol-led battle to repress those   
memories has been foiled. He stands up restlessly and rubs the bridge   
of his nose with a tired sigh.   
  
The Girl tonight could have been her twin.   
  
Lucius Malfoy's fine idea of a joke. For a brief moment when he'd   
stepped across the threshold of the Malfoy family torture chambers   
and saw the tangled mass of chestnut curls hanging over a body chained   
to the wall, he was certain they had her; the lightning flash of emotion   
that realisation prompted, when it struck, left him dizzy. Shock, first   
and foremost. Horror that the supposed sanctity of Hogwarts had been   
violated yet again. And then surprisingly, RAGE. Blinding, white hot   
rage that of all the children he could have chosen from, not the least   
of which was Harry Potter himself, Lucius would take her - the only   
student he'd had in just under two decades of teaching that was worth   
the effort. That Lucius Fucking Malfoy would take it upon himself to   
extinguish the brightest light the wizarding world had see in a hundred   
years was an idea he found insupportable.   
  
The depth of his reaction at seeing that particular girl endangered   
is the something that haunts him now in the cool hollows of his   
private chambers, but at the time he was ready to kill for her.   
Ready to die for her.   
  
He didn't recall reaching for his wand, but suddenly it was in his   
hand. The only thing that stopped him from making a potentially fatal   
pivot towards Malfoy Sr. was the young lady herself. At the sound of   
the door opening to admit yet more revellers, she had raised her head   
and met his eyes searchingly. Instead of the warm chocolate he expected   
his gaze found the dark green of the sea after a storm. Relief swept   
over him in a wave as he realized whomever they had strung up for   
tonight's entertainment was not Gryffindor's resident know-it-all.   
  
The Girl had dropped her head again, having obviously come to the   
conclusion that salvation would not come in the form of a pale man   
with greasy hair. He consciously relaxed and firmly re-established   
himself in the mental role of Eager-Death-Eater.   
  
The timing of that action undoubtedly saved his life. The knot of tension   
that had tightened his spine and steeled his muscles would have revealed   
his revulsion at the identity of their "guest" as loudly as a scream   
to the hand he found suddenly planted on his shoulder.   
  
"Severus!" Lucius crowed as he propelled them both forward with a   
little shove and steered him towards the Girl. "What do you think of   
my little surprise?"   
  
He cocked an eyebrow at his enthusiastic host before turning to study   
the chained figure. The tip of his wand under her chin forced her head   
to rise and with studied nonchalance he narrowed his eyes at her. Up   
close her irises were cloudy jade, the pupils unfocused. "I'd say the   
polyjuice potion is wearing off. The little mudblood bitch has brown   
eyes."   
  
Lucius chuckled at his profanity, "Always such an eye for fine detail,   
Sev. Amazingly enough, our little friend's appearance owes nothing to   
any branch of magic. At least, not to any you or I possess."   
  
His eyebrow arched a fraction higher in an implied question and Lucius'   
grin widened slightly in response.   
  
"I was on business in Muggle London and the chit ran into me on my way   
to the Notting Hill portkey, quite literally." He sighed dramatically   
as he moved to trace the Girl's cheek. "Absolutely deplorable manners.   
She completely destroyed the iris bulbs I'd acquired for Narcissa and   
flounced off without so much as a second glance. And you know how   
difficult it is to procure the Bella Nox..." Lucius mock-pouted at him.   
  
With his ample experience in procuring obscure potion ingredients, he   
remembered almost sympathising with Lucius' aggravation - due to a   
complex set of mystical properties Bella Nox was the most closely   
guarded strain of blossom in existence. Personally, he couldn't help   
being rather disdainful of the quick-fix the flowers represented. As   
a trained and licensed Potions Master he could not reconcile replacing   
hard-won and repeatable results with 'fairy dust' that keyed itself   
into the sprinkler's intention for a unique, and often times unreproducable,   
result and still call himself an academic. The stuff was for fools who   
possessed no aptitude for the fine art of potion brewing, like Lucius,   
who were nonetheless dangerous fools. And with a waiting list that   
could easily span decades to obtain a single bulb it was highly unlikely   
the destroyed flowers had been attained through the proper legal   
channels. Added to the fact that they were undeniably going to cost   
the clumsy child her life, his meagre sympathy for Malfoy was short   
lived.   
  
His attention jerked back on the Girl at the sharp clank of her chains   
against the dungeon wall. It was obvious that, even under the heavy   
thrall of the Pax Solumnis charm Lucius favoured to keep his "toys"   
docile, she was desperate to avoid his touch. A detached part of him   
noted the pathetic lurch of her head to evade the icy caress of Malfoy   
fingers, but the overwhelming majority of his thought was centred on   
how quickly he could justify using Avada Kedavra to end her impending   
misery without arising suspicion. The answer that came to him almost   
immediately was 'no time soon'. As he watched his host turn his full   
attention to the Girl and begin speaking to her directly - never a good   
sign for the intend victim where Lucius Malfoy was involved.   
  
"That was unforgivable breach of social etiquette, don't you think my   
dear?" The Lord of the Manor's voice was deceptively light. "A sign of   
truly poor breeding...To knock a man's packages to the ground and not   
even offer to help collect them...Not that I would have accepted, but   
it would have been polite." Lucius shook his head and inarticulately   
muttered his disapproval at her.   
  
To his audience, he added conversationally, "Draco pointed out her   
startling resemblance the Granger girl once I had her...fetched."   
  
With a sinister chuckle he tossed the snifter of brandy he'd been   
nursing aside, and brought that hand up to trace her other cheek. "He   
thought I'd brought him an early birthday present when he saw her all   
wrapped up." Smirking, he indicated the Slytherin green gown that   
draped her slender form. "Perhaps, if there's enough left of her when   
we're finished I might let him experiment a bit." The Girl's eyes   
where owlishly round in fright and a muscle twitched along her jaw.   
Severus knew with a sickening sense of certainty that if the binding   
spell allowed it, she'd have been screaming.   
  
Without warning, Lucius snaked his fingers into her hair and slammed   
the Girl's head into the uneven stones of the wall. Her mouth dropped   
open in a soundless cry of agony and her eyes slammed shut. Her captor   
grinned in excitement at her pain and with a flick of his wand, summoned   
various torture instruments to prolong his entertainment. It took every   
ounce of self-preservation and will power he possessed to keep from   
reacting to the sight of Lucius Malfoy torturing the image of Hermione   
Granger. Only the fact that presumably the real Miss Granger was safe   
and sound in Gryffindor tower gave him strength enough to continue   
the charade of clinical detachment with his actions.   
  
Rather than concentrate on the drama enfolding before him, he bent   
his mind towards coming up with a plan to ease the girl's suffering.   
But try as he might, he just couldn't formulate a viable way to get her   
out of this situation alive without exposing his cover. Maintaining his   
position as a spy for the Order of the Phoenix had forced him to stand   
idly by and allow more atrocities than he would care to remember, but   
he knew he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he did nothing for   
this particular captive. His tongue ran along the back of his teeth, a   
nervous gesture he allowed himself only because it wasn't outwardly   
visible, and suddenly it came to him. Not that it was much of a plan   
once he had it formulated - certainly not the stuff of grand epics that   
made him a knight in shining armour - but it was conceivably the best   
that could be achieved given the current circumstances. He had long   
ago implanted a capsule of Displaced Suffering potion under the skin   
of his tongue. In the event of capture a quick bite would release the   
potion, rendering him insensate to the tortures that would doubtlessly   
follow and leaving him incapable of divulging the Order's secrets.   
While the Girl had no damning secrets to share, the tablet would   
guarantee she registered little of her final hours. And after a bout   
with Malfoy's sadistic attentions it would easily be believable for   
her to fade from consciousness.  
  
As he watched Lucius come to the end of his ministrations he freed   
the capsule from his tongue with a decisive nip - careful to keep   
from rupturing it - and stepped forward. The pod in his mouth swam in   
the blood freeing it had produced and all around him the sounds of his   
fellow Death Eater's depravities with other captives rang in his ears.   
It occurred to him to be grateful that Lucius wasn't inclined to share   
his personal 'entertainment' with anyone more than himself and Draco   
or the Girl would have had immeasurably more to endure before he was   
given the opportunity to reach her.  
  
A few quick spoken words followed by a jab of his wand and the binding   
spell was gone. Giving himself an excuse to push close, he whispered   
taunts in her ear before dragging his lips across her cheek and pressing   
them to her own. Slanting his mouth over hers, he nudged the tablet   
onto her unresponsive tongue and was gratified when the girl bit down   
in mortification. He pulled back slightly and watched her eyes cloud   
under his potion's influence.   
  
Somehow his hands had found their way to her hips and the sweet curves   
of her body molded to him as his weight pinned her to the dungeon wall.   
The Girl's eyes had drooped more than halfway closed under the potion's   
heavy sway, making her resemblance to Hogwarts Head Girl even more   
pronounced. Unconsciously, he found himself bending forward to claim   
her lips once more. Her mouth opened beneath his and he filled it with   
his tongue, which had darted forward to taste her properly.   
  
The realisation that the Girl's similarity to Hermione Granger had   
prompted his ardor pulled him away from her abruptly. He covered the   
shock he felt at his actions with a smooth laugh and another taunt, but   
was careful not to touch her again. While that bastard Lucius looked on   
in amusement, he gritted his teeth and tortured the Girl's body. All   
the while trying to content himself in the knowledge that she wasn't   
cognisant of horrors he inflicted on her. It was enough that he was,   
and his forced participation would haunt his dreams with the ghost of   
her taste on his lips. Finally satisfied that he had played his roll to   
perfection he cast the killing curse himself, secure in the knowledge   
that no-one deserved the attentions of both Malfoys in one lifetime,   
let alone one evening.   
  
That should have been the end of it. One more atrocity to add to the   
list of countless others he'd committed in his lifetime. But even now,   
drinking himself into a stupour in the dungeons, his reaction to the   
Girl preys upon his mind. The knowledge that if it had been Hermione   
no prescription of the Order would have been enough to keep from   
martyring himself for her. The desire to protect her, a spark lit when   
he first saw her doppelganger marked for death, beyond all rationale   
burns even brighter now that the danger has passed. He shivers at the   
force of this new-found conviction.  
  
A repeated pounding at his chamber door dragged him mercifully to   
awareness before his memories became truly unbearable. With a short   
growl of irritation he scrubbed his hands over his face and knocked   
back the rest of his scotch. He wondered briefly who would be foolish   
enough to disturb him at this time of night. He trudged to the door and   
yanked it open with a snarl, but the sardonic jab he was prepared to   
hurl at his unwelcome intruder died on his lips.   
  
The real Hermione Granger was at his door.   
  
...  
  
Author's Notes (Not that anyone ever reads these bloody things...):  
  
1.) A huge shout out and thank you to my lovely beta Caroline, with   
out whom this story would have been a gangly beastie instead of the   
happy little plot bunny it's become.  
  
2.) While the first chapter is the extent of my answer to the challenge,   
the story continues...Chapter 2 should be posted next week.   
  
3.) Okay, so I'm giving the whole Queen's English bit a try. I'm from   
the States, so let me tell who how jarring I find UK spelling! Another   
kudo to Miss Caroline for bullying me into proper form. Though I still   
don't think realization looks right spelled with an "s"! ;-) 


	2. Rise To Meet My End

Chapter Two: Rise To Meet My End  
  
While Severus was just pouring his first glass of scotch, on the   
other side of the castle a figure in Gryffindor Tower was twisting   
frantically in bed. Hermione awoke with a strangled yelp, her   
nightshirt damp with sweat, and catapulted out of bed into her ensuite   
bathroom, a Head Girl's privilege she had never quite been so thankful   
for. She'd barely managed to wrench open the door and hit her knees   
in front of the toilet basin before she lost what little dinner she'd   
managed between her studies that evening. Her retching finally subsided   
to dry heaves and then to wracking coughs. Slowly, she straightened up   
and pressed trembling palms to her eyelids. Some time later she stumbled   
to her feet and wove unsteadily to the sink. The icy shock of water   
hitting her cheeks was grounding, but the face that peered back at   
her from the mirror didn't look calmed. Thank Merlin the looking glass   
was asleep, she thought irreverently, its commentary would not have   
been welcomed.  
  
She steadied herself by gripping the edge of the basin with both hands   
and studied her reflection. Her skin was unnaturally pale with bright   
splotches of colour high on either cheek. The tangled matts of her hair   
escaped their plaited confine in damp curls around her face, framing   
a gaze that was abnormally wide and slightly vacant. She closed her   
eyes again, tightened her grip on the porcelain sink and tried to tell   
her self it was only a dream. A vicious, horrible dream brought on by   
too much worrying about her upcoming O.W.L.'s and a disturbing shift   
towards lechery in Malfoy Jr.'s latest jibes. But even as she thought   
it, she knew she was kidding herself. With her eyes closed she could   
almost feel the cool metal of the manacles circling her wrists, taste   
the heavy copper tang from biting through her tongue as her schoolmate's   
father inflicted her with wave after seemingly endless wave of suffering.   
She remembered being almost relieved when Professor Snape demanded his   
'turn' with her. Not relief that it was Snape as such, there was no   
recognition of him her dream partner's mind; but for the change -   
no-one could be worse than the blond bastard who'd had her kidnapped   
less than ten feet from her front door. There was confusion at the alien   
nature of that thought: "I don't live in London" a rational voice at   
the back of her mind seemed to be saying, but then that and everything   
else was lost, pulled into the vortex of this memory.   
  
By the time the Professor had called Malfoy off her the emerald silk   
of her gown was stained reddish brown with her blood and pulp from the   
iris bulbs he blamed her for destroying. As he worked her over with knife   
and wand, he'd ground the juice into every open wound and the resulting   
agony was worse than anything she'd ever imagined. She'd been unable   
to do more than hang there limply in relief for the break when Professor   
Snape stepped up to her. He jabbed his wand at her with a decisive   
"Finite incantatem!" The part of her that was a witch realised he'd just   
deactivated the spell that kept her from fighting back, but the girl   
in her dream just stared at him uncomprehendingly. He moved closer and   
bent to whisper in her ear, "You're free to scream now, little muggle..."   
Her head jerked in surprise, her knuckles tightening on the rim of the   
sink, as the girl in her dream and her mind finally realised she was   
free to move. In the dream, she had opened her mouth to scream, but   
was too slow. He had already pressed himself against her and slid his   
mouth across her bloody cheek to cover her lips with his. For a   
moment she froze in shock, but when she felt something nudge past her   
lips she bit down in outrage, hoping to catch his tongue. The taste of   
black liquorice filled her mouth as the capsule he'd slipped her exploded,   
a hint of copper beneath it, mixed with something exotic and unknown.   
For a moment there was a tingling of energy that radiated through her,   
before a strange feeling of numbness stole over her, and this time even   
though it was his tongue that pushed into her mouth she didn't react.   
Couldn't react. That liquorice taste mixed with blood from his mouth   
and her cheek and that biting tang that she could only assume was iris   
pulp was all she could register; the only thing that was important.   
Everything was becoming increasingly indistinct and the last thing she   
remembered clearly was him laughing as he pulled away from her. The   
silky purr of his voice lamenting the unacceptability of using that   
particular tactic to stop her doppelganger's wagging tongue during   
potions class followed her down into the abyss.  
  
Shaking, Hermione dropped to her knees once more. Wrapping her arms   
around herself, she fought down another wave of nausea. She had vague   
recollections, uneasy inklings, of the events that transpired after he   
pulled away, but quite frankly she was glad to let those memories remain   
unclear. Eventually those fleeting images ended in a flash of green tinged   
darkness. A sliver of ice moved down her spine when she realized what   
that meant. "He killed me." she whispered, and the sound of those words   
aloud finally served to end the thrall the memory held over her.   
  
"No," she said as she shook her head to clear it. "He killed her. It was   
real, and he killed her." Even as she said it she knew it was true, but   
her rational mind balked. She'd never shown any aptitude for precognition,   
how could it have been anything but a dream?  
  
Suddenly, she had to know. Had to have some confirmation that she hadn't   
gone completely mad, that it really was more than just a nightmare. Nausea   
forgotten, she sprang to her feet and was on her way out the Fat Lady's   
portrait before she could reconsider, or even clothe herself more fully.   
The rough stones of the passageways were cold under her toes as she   
practically flew to the dungeons. It wasn't until she found herself   
pounding on an unremarkable section of wall that she wondered how the   
hell she knew where the hidden entrance to Severus Snape's personal   
quarters was.   
  
And then the wall became a door, and that door abruptly sprang open to   
reveal an irate and drunken Potions Master. A surge of despair and   
self-loathing washed over her like a wave. Her head spun under the force   
of foreign emotion and, without explanation, she knew it originated from   
the man in front of her. He was opening his mouth to speak and the action   
drew her attention to his lips. With a strange feeling of disassociation   
she reached up to touch his bottom lip, remembering suddenly the sensation   
of that mouth sliding over hers. "You taste like liquorice..." she whispered   
dizzily as the spinning sensation dragged her down into unconsciousness.  
  
***  
  
"She beckons me,  
Shall I give in?  
Upon my end shall I begin?  
Forsaking all I've fallen for   
I rise to meet my end..."  
Whisper, Origin album, Evanescence  
  
***  
  
*CHAPTER NOTES*  
  
1. Chapters are a little short so far, hope to make later ones much   
longer. Chapter 3 should be out next week at the latest.  
  
2. Thank you to everyone who left feedback! A few quick personal notes:  
  
Aine Deande: lol - I'm glad you enjoyed the story and wish I had the   
aptitude to write a better summary. As lack-luster as that one is, it   
was WORLDS better than the three or four I went through before it. I   
am happily open to suggestions though, as my summary writing ability   
is non-existent!   
  
CynthiaWeasley: I love your writing! Please update And So It Goes soon!  
  
jezzie: Your story Recognition actually started my mind working on the   
bond concept. Brilliant work!  
  
3. And as always, much heartfelt thanks to Caroline for her outstanding   
Beta work! 


	3. Bound

Chapter Three: Bound  
  
They gaped at each other like fish for several minutes after he opened  
the door. He had just collected his composure enough to ask when the  
location of his private rooms had become public knowledge when she  
silenced him with a step forward. He couldn't help but jerk in surprise   
when her fingertips came up to trace his bottom lip. "You taste like   
liquorice..." she murmured and then collapsed against him. He barely   
had the presence of mind to catch the girl before she hit the floor.   
  
In flabbergasted silence he contemplated the slack Gryffindor in his   
arms. Shaking his head in confusion, he wondered what in the Nine Hells   
possessed her to say such a thing. Sudden revelation hit him with a   
cold wave of insight: at the Revel, the Displaced Suffering potion   
he'd slipped the Girl had an anise seed base. Anise not only darkened   
a potion's colour it also lent a distinctive black liquorice flavor.   
  
"Bloody hell," he whispered hoarsely as he shifted his grip on her waist   
and slid an arm behind her knees to lift her. Her skin was feverishly hot   
beneath his hands. In a few short steps he had her spread out on his   
couch. The door to his quarters snapped shut with a flick of his wand   
and in seconds he had a fire roaring. A handful of powder was tossed   
into the flames. "Albus Dumbledore!" he barked impatiently. A minute   
later the headmaster's rumpled face came into view.  
  
"Severus," Albus said in sleepy greeting. "I wasn't expecting you to   
report until tomorrow."  
  
"Events have conspired to complicate my evening," he snarled in reply,   
gesturing backwards to the unconscious figure sprawled out on his sofa.  
  
Dumbledore's eyes widened in surprise at the sight of Hogwarts Head Girl   
in a limp half-dressed heap on his potion master's settee. "I'll be there   
directly. Is she injured?"  
  
The professor's gaze twitched over to the girl and back to him. The   
concern in his eyes was unmistakable if one knew what to look for. "The   
addition of Poppy's talent would not be remiss."  
  
The headmaster nodded decisively. "I will fetch her. Watch for us shortly."   
And then the hearth was filled with nothing but fire.   
  
Severus watched the flames for a moment and then turned away with a sigh.   
Striding to his desk, he yanked open a drawer and in a single motion   
removed a vial, uncorked it with a deft movement of his thumb and downed   
the liquid it contained in one swallow. The Sobriety potion hit him with a   
jolt and the hazy distance that had been accompanying his thoughts   
evaporated. A quiet whimper drew him from across the room. His unexpected   
visitor was writhing on the couch, beads of sweat dotting her skin. Conjuring   
a bowl of water and a cloth, he knelt by her side and sponged her face.   
The coolness of the rag calmed her enough that the writhing slowly segued   
to shivering. Finally noting the oversized shirt that comprised her attire,   
he cursed himself for not thinking to cover her first. A quick swish of   
his wrist later and the coverlet from his own bed was settling itself over   
her. He shook his head ruefully. Given the licentious nature of his thoughts   
concerning this young woman earlier tonight, he was surprised he hadn't   
noticed her state of undress until she started shivering. Merlin knew what   
she thought she was doing wandering around the dungeons in a threadbare   
nightshirt. If pneumonia didn't catch her first there was any number of   
Slytherin 'gentlemen' who would've been happy to. And their intentions   
toward a scantily clad Gryffindor witch found wandering the Snake's Den   
at this time of night could hardly be called honourable. Especially a witch   
as lovely as the one currently ensconced in his duvet, he couldn't help but   
silently acknowledge to himself as he surveyed her still form.  
  
A loud pop from the fireplace caught his attention and unintentionally   
heralded Madame Pomfrey's frantic entrance. Upon seeing the acerbic Head   
of Slytherin on his knees nursing what was publicly acknowledged as his   
least-favorite Gryffindor the anxious woman practically skidded to a halt   
in shock. Her stop was so abrupt that Albus walked right into her as he   
stepped out of the floo.   
  
"Excuse me, Poppy," he said with uncharacteristic somberness as he stepped   
around her. "What happened, Severus?" Upon seeing the headmaster's lack of   
reaction, Poppy shook off her surprise and approached her patient. Severus   
relinquished his position without complaint, unthinkingly squeezing Hermione's   
shoulder as he stood. Dumbledore noted the unconscious action with interest.  
  
"I am uncertain how Miss Granger found her way to my quarters, but I   
believe her condition may be connected to the events that transpired   
earlier this evening." The headmaster raised an eyebrow in interest and   
motioned for him to continue.  
  
"As you know, I apparated to the Meeting when summoned. After the...standard  
preliminaries..." The professor was hesitant to elaborate with his current   
audience, unwilling to discuss Order business in front of the uninitiated.   
Albus nodded slightly in approval of his restraint. "We retired to Malfoy   
Manor. Lucius had arranged for the Inner Circle's dinner and…entertainment   
for the evening." Poppy blanched at the thought of what Death Eaters must   
consider entertainment, but Severus continued without pausing. "After   
eating, I followed Lucius down to the dungeon and saw..."  
  
"Me." All eyes turned to the now conscious student. "I was chained to the   
wall across from the entrance hall. He said he wanted me to be the first   
thing everyone saw, that I'd be an example..."   
  
"He who, Hermione?" Poppy asked, but Snape cut her off before Hermione   
could respond.  
  
"Ms. Granger herself was not in attendance," he snapped, glaring at her   
interruption.  
  
Hermione frowned at him in befuddlement, "But I remember…"  
  
His glare softened almost imperceptibly and his next words were resigned. "She   
was not there. But I believe her Homopsuchos was."   
  
Poppy for a moment just looked at Severus as she processed his words, then   
she pulled a wand from her robes and with a quietly muttered spell waved   
it over the girl. The tip of the wand, which had begun shining a light   
blue, darkened rapidly to sickly glowing yellow.   
  
"Severus, did Miss Granger's Homopsuchos die?" she asked cautiously.   
  
Professor Snape paled in surprise. "Yes, she did. Does that mean...No,   
she can't be. The other portion of Miss Granger's soul should have returned   
to her own by now."   
  
A startled "What?!" from Hermione was ignored by all parties.  
  
"Well be that as is may, Miss Granger is beginning to Evanesce and since   
her Homopsuchos is dead that portion of her soul must be trapped somewhere."   
  
"What does Evanesce mean?" Again ignored, Hermione was steadily growing   
more uneasy and annoyed.  
  
Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully, the twinkle returning to his   
eyes. "Poppy, do run your wand over Severus. I have a theory that may be   
worth testing." Snape's entire body stiffened in consternation as the tip   
turned a brilliant indigo when waved over him.   
  
"Well," began Poppy rather deliberately, as if trying to buy herself time   
to think. "That explains where the Homopsuchos' soul is trapped. The   
question that remains to be answered is how."   
  
"It's simply impossible" the Potions master bit out, just as Hermione   
plaintively said "What's happening to me?" and looked pleadingly from one   
adult to another, to no avail.   
  
Finally unable to take being ignored anymore, Hermione leapt to her feet,   
"WHAT is impossible?! Will someone please tell me what the bloody hell is   
going on!" The adults turned to her as one and the girl shrank sheepishly   
into herself.  
  
"Miss Granger," her professor growled as he pinned her with a dark glare,   
"you are obviously under the impression that your situation has granted you   
some degree of leniency that exempts you from rendering proper respect to   
your elders. Let me be the first to assure you that it has NOT. Now sit   
down and cover yourself."  
  
She turned as red as Ginny's hair as she realized that she was standing in   
nothing but a slightly oversized pyjama top and knickers. With a quick   
pivot she dived into the covers she'd just left and sat there awkwardly.   
Snape quirked an eyebrow in amusement at her embarrassed silence and said   
ruefully, "If only I had something that affective to quiet you during class."  
  
She looked at him strangely. "You said something remarkably similar after   
you kissed me." Professor Snape's head snapped back as if she'd slapped   
him and Madame Pomfrey whirled on him in outrage.  
  
"I didn't kiss HER!" Snape yelped uncharacteristically and held his hands   
up to ward off the enraged Mediwitch. "I kissed the Girl! I needed a way to   
slip her the Displaced Suffering potion without raising Lucius' suspicions!"  
  
"Did the Girl have a name?" Albus interjected quietly.  
  
"Miranda Elsing," Severus and Hermione answered in unison and then flinched   
in tandem surprise and eyed each other with distrust.  
  
"Much as I suspected," the headmaster said in satisfaction. "Severus, summon   
a house elf. Explanations may take some time, and would be aided immensley   
by a spot of tea. And perhaps a biscuit or two," he added thoughtfully.   
The Professor nodded and moved to obey. Turning, he addressed Hermione,   
"Would you care for a sherbert lemon, my dear?" The overwrought girl just   
looked at him blankly. "Ah well," he said and popped the sticky treat into   
his mouth as he waved Poppy to the seat across from him and settled into   
an armchair by the fire himself.  
  
A short time later found tea distributed and Professor Snape situated on   
the sofa as far from Hermione as he could manage. The headmaster watched   
in amusement as the man shifted uncomfortably - it was, after all, a very   
short couch. There was only so far he could edge away from the girl without   
falling off the cushion. Hermione, on the other hand, looked remarkably   
better. A little colour had returned to her cheeks and the slight tremor   
he'd noticed in her hands had receded. Albus glanced at Poppy and saw   
that she had noticed the marked improvement as well.   
  
Shifting his attention back to the Head Girl, he asked, "How did you find   
Professor Snape's rooms?"  
  
Looking up from her tea, she took a deep breath before answering, "I dreamed   
I was Miranda and that he and Mr. Malfoy were t-torturing me." Another deep   
breath followed the waiver in her voice. Gathering her Gryffindor courage,   
she continued, "And after they were finished, Professor Snape performed   
Avada Kedavra on me…I mean…her. I tried to tell myself that it was only a   
nightmare, but I just knew it wasn't. I needed some confirmation that I   
wasn't going mad so I came here. My feet just seemed to know where to go."   
Turning to the man seated next to her she said, "I swear to you, Professor - I   
didn't have any idea where your private quarters were before tonight. As   
it is, I'm not sure I know the way back..." She trailed off helplessly.  
  
"You dreamed that I tortured and murdered you and then immediately decide   
I'M the person you need confirmation from?" Snape asked in sarcastic   
disbelief. "Merlin save me from the Gryffindor excuse for logical thinking."  
  
"But you didn't want to do it!" She cried, obviously upset. "And when I saw   
you, I could feel how badly you felt about what you had to do and how you'd   
only done it to save me from that bastard Lucius! Where else would I go?"  
  
Several things about this sentence caught the headmaster's attention. Not   
the least of which was Hermione, who was known to endlessly lecture her   
peers on using the proper title to address their elders, using Severus'   
nickname of choice in referring to the head of House Malfoy. "What is   
Professor Snape feeling now?"  
  
"Irritation," she practically snarled as she picked up the emotion.   
"Disbelief at this entire situation and concern for me…" Her words tapered   
off as she turned to gawk at her professor in astonishment. "Concern for me?"   
she echoed incredulously.  
  
Refusing to give into the obscure desire to squirm under the weight of her   
stare, he drew himself up and sneered at her. "If you are quite finished   
invading my privacy Miss Granger, perhaps we can return to the matter at   
hand. I am fairly certain that you've made the Headmaster's point."   
  
"Indeed she has, Severus." The elder man agreed. "Tell me, Hermione - are   
you familiar with a work of Plato's entitled Symposium?"  
  
She blinked at him in surprise, "Symposium? I can't say I am, though I am   
familiar with several of his other works. For instance…"  
  
Professor Snape cut her off with an impatient wave, "No need to list them,   
Miss Granger. We're all well aware of your pretentiously varied reading   
tastes."   
  
Sparing a moment to glare at him, she turned back to Professor Dumbledore   
and restated simply, "No sir, I have not read Symposium. Was Plato a wizard?"  
  
"Only a wizard of words," Albus chuckled. "But his Symposium contains   
reference to the wizarding legend of Homopsuchos, even if it does not   
mention it by name. The story goes that in the early days of the world,   
mankind was proud. And in their pride our distant ancestors, believing   
themselves equal to the gods, rose up and sought to replace them as the   
rulers of Olympus. Their rebellion failed and in retribution for their   
folly, the gods split every member of the race of Man in half and scattered   
the pieces to the winds. Dooming the poor fractured creatures to spend   
eternity searching for their missing halves."  
  
"Like soulmates?" She interrupted.  
  
"Not quite," the headmaster replied. "At least, not with the inherently   
romantic connotations we associate the word with today. While it is not   
unknown for Homopsuchos to fall in love with each other, publicly it's   
looked upon as the ultimate form of narcissism. For example, what are your   
two favorite subjects?"  
  
"Arithmancy and Potions," she replied immediately.  
  
"And what where Miranda's two favorite subjects?" the old wizard prompted   
with a twinkle in his eye.  
  
"Physics and Chemistry…oh!" She cried understandingly, "Practically   
identical!" Closing her eyes, she concentrated on the bond between herself   
and the fragment of Miranda that seemed to reside in Professor Snape. "We   
have the same opinions on virtually everything! I don't know that I could   
stand being with someone who didn't challenge me."  
  
"Loving a person who is nothing more than a mirror of yourself is not an   
option that truly appeals to most people." His smile widened, "At least not   
for more than a minute."  
  
"Unless you're Gilderoy Lockhart," Professor Snape muttered with a smirk   
as he looked down to take a sip of his tea.  
  
Pulling the conversation back on topic, Poppy placed her cup on the conjured   
tea table and stood to approach the couch. "When Miranda died her half of   
the soul should have merged with yours, Hermione," she said with a worried   
frown as she began to perform a more thorough examination of the still-seated   
witch. "With both of you alive, an inactive bond existed that allowed the   
two halves of your soul to survive without inhabiting the same body. In a   
near-death experience, the bond would have activated to allow the imperilled   
half of the soul a ready escape should its host body expire. While we have   
proof the bond activated, courtesy of your dream, it appears that instead of   
following that lifeline Miranda's half of the soul bonded itself to Professor   
Snape."  
  
"How do you know she bonded with the Professor? Is that part of the spell   
that you performed earlier?" Hermione asked as the nurse tilted her chin up   
to have a better vantage to check pupil dilation.  
  
"I was going to cast it again anyway," the elder witch said as she stepped   
slightly back and pointed her wand at her. "Let me show you: Visu Vitae!"   
The tip of the wand once again began to glow blue. Hermione watched the   
colour fade to a sickly yellow as it moved over her.  
  
"A diagnostic spell?" The girl guessed as the yellowish tip hovered before   
her eyes. Madame Pomfrey nodded as she contemplated the wand's results.   
"The colour and quality of the light can indicate quite a bit about the type   
of ill and its severity. If I remember correctly, I believe Madame Pince   
has a copy of 'Visu Vitae: A Guide in Use and Meaning' in the restricted   
section. If you are interested in reading it, I can write you a pass for it   
tomorrow." Hermione nodded excitedly and Professor Snape snorted in   
amusement at the tendrils of her enthusiasm that leaked through to him.   
  
Poppy scowled at him before turning back to Hermione to continue. "This   
particular colour," she said, gesturing to the wand in her hand, "is very   
distinctive. Yellow is strictly reserved for maladies of the spirit and this   
shade is best known for denoting an Evanescence." Hermione was opening   
her mouth to ask what that meant when Madame Pomfrey held up her hand   
to forestall her questions and continued explaining, "Evanescence is a   
Mediwitch term for an unnaturally severed soul. Souls can be shared, but   
not severed. An incomplete soul without a secure bond to it's other half   
can't survive. Unless the connection is re-established, the separated   
fragments will slowly wither and die."   
  
"And without the soul…" Hermione said quietly.  
  
"The body dies as well. One can not exist with out the other." Poppy   
finished in a mournful tone.   
  
The young woman took a moment to digest this new information. "What can   
you do about it?"  
  
"I'm not sure yet. Professor Snape," the Mediwitch said without turning   
towards him as she reoriented her wand on Hermione, "take her hand."  
  
He looked at her questioningly, but moved to comply without argument. He   
was surprised by how much he'd wanted to offer the girl next to him this   
comfort anyway in the wake of the swirling mass of emotions lapping at   
the edge of their connection. Her hand was warm from the teacup she'd been   
holding and her fingers had laced with his instinctively when he reached for   
her. She looked down at their clasped hands and he could feel her amusement   
at the irony of their situation. Who would have believed yesterday that   
Saturday morning would find her willingly holding hands with the dreaded   
Professor Snape? She certainly wouldn't have.  
  
Nor would he, he thought in ironic appreciation. Her gaze rose from their   
grip to his eyes and he cocked an eyebrow at her. "Much more of this Miss   
Granger, and some cultures would consider us engaged." He smirked at the   
faint blush that rose to her cheeks as she turned her attention back to Poppy.   
  
Albus chuckled at his comment and replied, "And just think! If we had some   
cakes and wine, according to Druidic traditions you'd already be married."   
Turning her attention back to the men, Hermione was treated to the almost   
unheard of display of a slight flush tinting the cheeks of Severus Snape.  
  
"Just as I thought, look!" Poppy interrupted in time to save him further   
embarrassment. All attention returned to the older woman's wand tip. The   
colour of the light had already edged it's way into a pale green and was   
visibly darkening by the minute. "Her connection to Miranda's portion of   
their spirit was split, but enough remains that physical contact still   
forms a bridge."  
  
"Brilliant," Snape snapped in derision. "We'll just walk around holding   
hands. That should make brewing Lupin's wolfsbane potion tonight an   
interesting experience." The werewolf had returned this year to the Defense   
Against the Dark Arts position, leaving Severus uncomfortably beholden to   
provide him with his monthly draughts.  
  
Hermione blinked at him in surprise, "You make Professor Lupin's wolfsbane   
potion?"  
  
With a disdainful look he replied, "I suppose you thought one could just   
waltz into Hogsmeade and pluck it off the shelf at Zonkos? Don't be foolish,   
Miss Granger, of course I make the potion for him."  
  
She looked chagrin, "I'd never given it much thought, actually. I suppose I   
thought that since you obviously despise him you wouldn't be inclined to   
go to such a degree of trouble for him. Why, consecrating the silver mirror   
used to reflect the moon's light onto the potion as it's steeping alone   
takes over a week of complex and draining spell casting!"  
  
"And once again your compulsive need to be ostentatious know-it-all astounds   
me," he said mockingly. "I'm well aware of the steps necessary for its   
brewing. I do, after all, make it regularly." Instead of taking offence she   
looked at him strangely, cocking her head to the side as if listening to   
something no-one else could hear.   
  
"It rather looses a bit of its sting when I can feel that you're actually   
impressed I knew the potion's steps," She said with a half-smile when she   
met his eyes.   
  
Suddenly he felt very exposed. It was bad enough that Dumbledore was able   
to read his mind with annoying frequency, to have a second person with the   
ability to randomly nose about his head was intolerable. There were things   
in there even he'd rather not be subjected to, let alone make accessible to   
an impressionable young woman whose mirror image he had kissed with such   
gusto earlier this evening. He fought off the urge to cringe at the lack of   
judgment that had led to that particular action. To himself, he could admit   
that the second time he kissed the girl had nothing to do with saving her   
and everything to do with her resemblance to the woman sitting beside him.   
But that was not knowledge he was willing to allow the inquisitive Miss   
Granger a chance to access. Disentangling his hand from hers, he drew back   
to the edge the sofa and visualized building an impenetrable wall between   
their thoughts.   
  
As the final mental brick slid into place, the subject of his forced   
estrangement crumpled in on herself with a gasp. The tip of Poppy's wand,   
which had been an inviting green, erupted into a well of blazing urine   
yellow light. "SEVERUS!" Poppy yelped in dismay, "What ever it is you've   
done, undo it IMMEDIATELY!"  
  
He gaped for a moment at Hermione's rapidly graying skin tone and then   
with the psychic equivalent of a wrecking ball demolished his recently   
constructed wall. "I didn't realise," he gasped out loud as he sought her   
out telepathically. The empty silence that met his call was disturbing.   
Acting on instinct, he reached a cross the couch and pulled her to him.   
Settling her unconscious form practically in his lap he clasped her cheeks   
in both hands, searching desperately for a way to increase their skin to   
skin contact. Pressing his forehead to hers, he found himself in the unique   
position of cursing his traditionally formal attire for the multitude of   
buttons required to remove it. Removing one hand from her face he grabbed   
the corner of his collar and with a savage tug ripped it halfway open,   
sending buttons careening like little rockets around the room. Taking her   
limp hand, he pressed it to the flesh above his heart and covered it with   
his own. "Miss Granger! Awake immediately!" He demanded of the inanimate   
woman in his arms with a small shake. There was no response.   
  
He looked up to Albus and Poppy for support. Poppy's wand was still yellow.   
"Will casting Enervate or an Awaken spell harm her?" he asked the Mediwitch.   
"If she were conscious it would be easier to re-establish the connection."   
  
"Her condition is too unstable," the older woman replied fretfully. "There's   
no way to tell how it would affect her."  
  
"Severus," the Headmaster said calmly. "Call her back to us."  
  
"I just did!" He snapped in frustration.  
  
"Not like that," Albus replied firmly as he gestured to their unorthodox   
position. "She will listen if you call to her like this. Bring her home."  
  
Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he gathered her even closer and   
pressed his cheek to hers. Focusing his mind on the slender form in his   
embrace, he lowered his internal defences and reached out into the abyss.  
  
*Hermione* He crooned mentally, half-hoping to shock her into consciousness   
with his unprecedented use of her first name. *Hermione, come back to us...*  
  
The echoing void held no reply.  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
"Now I'm bound by the life you left behind." –My Immortal, by Evanescence  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
Chapter Notes:  
  
1. Translations:  
Homopsuchos (ancient Greek) - Endowed with the same soul.   
Visu Vitae (Latin) – To see life.  
Translations for ancient Greek courtesy of the Perseus Digital library at:  
  
  
2. Soul Mates, adapted from Aristophanes' Speech on Love Based on Plato's   
"Symposium" – more info available here:  
  
  
3. A huge thanks to everyone who's given me feedback so far! Keep those   
reviews coming! Chapter 4 available next week... 


	4. Save Me From The Dark

Chapter Four: Save Me From The Dark  
  
"So, you're the other half of my soul."  
  
The voice came from behind, startling her out of her void-induced reverie.   
The darkness surrounding her was hypnotic in its vast emptiness and   
unknowingly she'd slipped into a kind of catatonia shortly after arriving.   
She tried to turn and face the newcomer but her body would not respond   
to her demands. There were no words to describe the panic she felt when   
she realised she had no physical body to command.  
  
"Calm down," the familiar voice said soothingly, now coming from around   
her right side. "You can't expect movement to work the same here. Without   
corporeal form it's all a matter of willpower; don't just *tell* your self   
to move, *will* it." By the end of this sentence, the speaker had moved   
into her line of sight.  
  
It was almost like looking in a mirror.   
  
The differences were subtle, but they were there. The hair was just a shade   
too dark, with a single black curl cascading down to accent her face on her   
left side. On close examination, she could see the girl's fingernails were   
long and smooth - A feat she'd never managed to accomplish due to a nasty   
nail chewing habit. But the most obvious distinction was her eyes, mossy   
green instead of the familiar brown that graced the Head Girl's looking   
glass every morning.  
  
"Miranda," she said in greeting as she bent her will towards making this   
new form accede to her mental demands.  
  
"Hermione," the girl smiled wryly in return. "Now that we've established   
each other's names, what are you doing here?"  
  
"I don't know," Having achieved control of her ephemeral form, the young   
witch frowned in reply. "I was speaking with Professor Snape, and suddenly   
I felt an intense spike of pain. The next thing I knew I was surrounded by   
all this empty darkness." She looked around helplessly, "Where is 'here'?"  
  
"Limbo," her twin replied. "At least, as best as I can tell. I get the feeling   
everyone comes through here at some point. Some of us just stay longer   
than others..." She trailed off and looked down uncomfortably, "How long   
have I been dead?"  
  
Hermione blinked at her in surprise, "You don't know?"  
  
Miranda shrugged. "Time is funny here; it feels so long ago to me."  
  
"About four hours."  
  
The other girl goggled at her, "FOUR HOURS?!! How can that be? It feels   
like an eternity..." She shook her head to clear it, "Or a minute. God, I   
can't keep anything straight in this void."  
  
"Have you been here the whole time?"  
  
"Not by half," she replied. "I spent some time rummaging around in Severus'   
head before I realised where I was. That's where this came from," she pinched   
the black curl between her thumb and forefinger. "The more time I spend in   
his mind, the more of him I seem to absorb. I don't think he's noticed me   
yet, for the most part everything we've exchanged seems to have been surface  
information. So far, anyway." She shivered, "I was afraid I'd lose myself   
if I delved any deeper. I spend as much time in Limbo as I can, but as soon   
as I relax our bond pulls me back to him."  
  
"How did you end up bonded to him anyway?" Hermione asked in exasperation,   
"Why didn't you follow the link to me?"  
  
"I'm not sure," the other girl responded with a sigh. "I felt the pull from   
our connection when I died, but when my spirit went to follow it, it was   
like some secondary force intervened and drew me to Severus instead."  
  
The witch cringed at his name. "It's very strange to hear you call him   
Severus."  
  
"He's not my Professor, Hermione," she replied with smirk. "And considering   
that in a weird sort of way this is the most intimate relationship I've ever   
been in, I refuse to address him formally. Besides - technically he is my   
murderer. I may understand why he did it, but that little fact doesn't   
incline me to accord him respectful titles. What does it matter if I call   
him Professor Snape or Sevvie? I'm still dead, regardless of what his intentions   
were..." Her words trailed off and a thoughtful expression stole over her   
face.  
  
"What is it?" Hermione asked with a frown.  
  
"His intentions..." Miranda answered distractedly as she mentally accessed   
Severus' memories and knowledge, "He wanted to save me, to take me with him.   
And when we kissed some of the Bella Nox from the slash Lucius made on my   
cheek mixed with our blood in my mouth..."  
  
"And Bella Nox reacts to the user's intentions!" Hermione gasped excitedly   
as she picked up on her double's train of thought through the link, "With   
blood's natural binding properties and the crushed flowers as a catalyst,   
since he wanted to take you with him, he did!"  
  
*Hermione* Soft words echoed out of the darkness and wound around them   
both, cutting off their conversation mid-stream. *Hermione, come back to   
us...* Hermione shuddered at the pull of that seductive voice and next to   
her Miranda's outline visibly flickered.  
  
"Come on," Miranda choked out, "I don't think I can resist his summoning   
and you need to go back anyway."  
  
"How?" Her soul-sister asked as the lure of his call became more insistent   
to them both.   
  
"Concentrate on me; I'm pretty sure our connection will drag you along."  
  
"Pretty sure?!" The Gryffindor squeaked.  
  
At this point the other girl's form was sputtering in and out of focus like   
a strobe light. "Aren't you the witch?" She snapped in frustration, "I'm   
acting on instinct and pirated information here - if you've got anything   
better then by all means, speak up! As it is, if following the link doesn't   
pull you with me, then I'll be back for you."  
  
*Please, Hermione...you must come back...* Both girls shuddered under the   
wave of desperate longing that accompanied his plea.   
  
"Go," Hermione spat through gritted teeth, "I'll be right behind you."   
Miranda nodded unsteadily and blinked out of sight. Hermione closed her   
eyes and focused on trailing the ephemeral thread connecting them.   
  
The world spun around her and when she opened her eyes, she and Miranda   
were standing beside the couch where Professor Snape was clutching her   
unconscious body. The power his call had over them decreased in urgency   
with their close proximity. Professor Dumbledore and Madame Pomfrey were   
hovering concernedly around the entwined figures on the sofa.   
  
Blinking in shock, the young witch studied the staff members crowding the   
room. An intangible ring of various colours surrounded each one. The   
Headmaster's was a corona of shining silver that murmured to her of the power   
of the moon and the pull of the tides; still water with undercurrents that   
ran deep and potent. The Mediwitch glowed a healer's green speckled with   
warm brown, echoing the safety and security of a mother's arms. Turning her   
attention to the man in front of her, she saw that Professor Snape's aura   
held the greatest array of colours in the group. The base shade of his nimbus   
was a blue so deep it was almost black, velvet and soft as the wings of a   
raven. Blotches of angry red regret spotted it and gray streaks of desperation   
randomly appeared and disappeared throughout, reminding her of soft summer   
rain. Around it all a thin edge of gold circled him like a crown.   
  
The Professor was cradling her body on his lap with a tenderness she would   
never have believed him capable of before now. Her eyebrow rose at the sight   
of his normally immaculate suit coat practically shredded to give her limp   
hand access to his skin. She was surprised to realise that she found seeing   
the air surrounding her physical shell devoid of light far more disturbing   
than the reality of being in such an intimate position with Severus Snape.   
Not caring to examine the nature of that thought too closely, Hermione   
raised her arm and found it surrounded by a mellow gold of the same hue as   
that which rimmed the Professor. She looked inquiringly to her twin.  
  
"That's our gold," Miranda nodded in answer to her unspoken question. "He   
got it the same time I got the streak," she shook her mane of wild curls in   
illustration.  
  
"You don't glow," Hermione said with a frown as she studied the girl beside   
her.  
  
Miranda's response was bitter, "Auras are the domain of the Living. Neither   
of us have one in Limbo and on this plane I don't qualify."  
  
Hermione crossed her arms and chewed her lip thoughtfully, "I wonder if I   
could just take you with me when I rejoin my body."   
  
The other girl unthinkingly mirrored her pose. "I don't know...I have this   
feeling that we couldn't exist in one body without merging. I don't know   
that I'm ready to lose my individuality."  
  
"I know," the witch replied with an unhappy sigh. "It sounds scary to me   
too, but what choice do we have? Without a solid connection to each other   
it's only a matter of time before our segregation destroys us both. It's   
only been four hours and you're already showing visible signs of melding   
with your host. If we take the time to search for other options you could   
end up welded to Professor Snape so solidly that there's no hope of   
untangling without causing all of us lasting harm."  
  
Miranda's shoulders slumped. She could feel that Hermione was right, but   
the concept of losing her sense of self was so frightening. At this point   
her identity was all she had left. Even so, as much as she wanted to fight   
it, she couldn't deny there was an insidious desire creeping into her heart   
to be WHOLE. Subconsciously all her life, she'd felt the ache of her   
spiritual deficiency. Even her dreams had been plagued by the subtle   
certainty that something was missing, something important, and if only she   
could find it then the cursed hollow feeling would FINALLY go away...  
  
"I know what you're feeling," her soul-sister whispered solemnly. "I've felt   
it too. We've got to face facts, Miranda; whether we like it or not, this is   
how it was meant to be."  
  
Her twin smiled weakly, "Now I know why they put you in Gryffindor."  
  
"Don't you mean Us?" Hermione said with an answering smile as she opened   
her arms to her wayward other half.  
  
"Us," Miranda agreed; her smile gaining strength as she stepped into her   
Homopsuchos' embrace. Time seemed to crawl to a stop as the two girls melted   
into one another with a flash of golden light and disappeared.   
  
*~*~*~*~*  
  
When the body in his arms jerked to consciousness, Severus Snape found   
himself thanking Gods he hadn't otherwise acknowledged in over twenty years.   
The hand pressed to his chest gripped spasmodically and satiny skin of her   
cheek slid along his neck to burrow into the hollow of his throat. He closed   
his eyes in relief and unconsciously pulled her closer in silent gratitude.   
  
The breath of the slender frame clasped to his chest hitched and a small   
whimper was lost against the skin of his neck. For a split second he thought   
she was justifiably horrified at waking up in this position with him, but   
then her grief hit him through the bond with unexpected force. The intensity   
of her pain shook him badly and without thinking he clutched her even closer   
to his side and tangled the hand that had been keeping hers against his heart   
in her soft mass of curls. "What is it, what's wrong?" He gasped as he rocked   
her in his arms. Her reply was so quiet that even with her practically   
whispering in his ear, he strained to make out her words.  
  
"It didn't work, it didn't work, I've been homogenised like so much milk and   
it didn't make a damn bit of difference..."  
  
He found her response was disjointed and nonsensical, so he eased her back   
from his neck regretfully. "What didn't work, Miss Granger?" He felt vaguely   
ridiculous calling a half-dressed woman draped across his lap by her surname,   
but the alternative was far too unacceptable for his position in her life,   
even given their intimate position. The eyes that met his questioning gaze   
were wide and mournful, the moisture of unshed tears darkening her lashes.  
  
"It didn't work," she informed him again solemnly. He suppressed a growl of   
irritation, but before he could press her further she closed her eyes and   
flooded his mind with images. In an instant he followed her trip through   
the void, conversations with Miranda, and assorted revelations. A wave of   
self-recrimination welled up and threatened to drown him at the discovery   
that responsibility for this situation fell solely on his shoulders. If only   
he'd done things differently...  
  
The woman in his arms drew him closer and sent him assurance in soothing   
ripples. It was foolish for him to condemn himself; while she was understandably   
not happy with the results, she understood why the scenario had followed the   
course it had. She did not blame him. While she'd rather not be in this   
situation, what else could he have done? He had saved her from as much   
pain as possible; anything else would have meant his death as well and what   
would that have accomplished?  
  
The temptation to take the comfort she offered was almost overwhelming. He   
quite literally couldn't remember the last time he'd had this much physical   
contact with another human being, let alone one as alluring as the witch   
currently clinging to his neck in quiet desperation to set him at ease. But   
as much as he may want to accept her unthinking forgiveness, he knew it   
was nothing more than typical Gryffindor sentimentality. He was aware of   
the properties of Bella Nox flowers; he'd watched Lucius practically coat   
her in their pulp. He should have taken better care not come into contact   
with any of the juice. As it was, even after half a bottle of scotch he could   
still taste the exotic tang of the flowers that had coated his tongue as he   
kissed her. And as 'noble' as her sudden interest in his welfare was undoubtedly   
meant to be, by his definition it was highly suspect. He pursed his lips   
sourly as he reminded himself that had it not been for his lack of foresight   
this evening, it was unlikely the woman wrapped around his neck would have   
taken the time to spit on him if he were on fire.  
  
A wispy memory of flames and quidditch floated through the bond and with   
a harsh bark of humourless laughter he realised that not only was her making   
token attempts to put him out highly unlikely, at one point she had apparently   
been the one starting the blaze. The combined entity that was Hermione pulled   
back quizzically at the dour humour seeping through their link.   
  
"Severus?" The Headmaster's query reminded him that they had an audience.   
Resolutely, he lifted Hermione from his lap and set her back down on the   
couch.  
  
"Very soon you and I are going to have a serious chat about your propensity   
for attacking Professors," he sternly told her with a malicious grin. Her   
eyes went round and wide as an owl's when it occurred to her what he was   
referring to.  
  
Standing up, he retrieved his wand and with a muttered "Sartor resartus!"   
mended the damage to his collar. Tucking his wand back in his sleeve, he   
addressed Albus and Poppy, "In a prime example of how no good deed goes   
unpunished, it appears that in my attempt to spare Miss Elsing from the   
final indignities of the evening I inadvertently created our current situation.   
Lucius had used the remains of some Bella Nox blossoms he blamed her for   
destroying to augment her torture and some of the juice was accidentally   
mixed with our blood when I slipped her the Displaced Suffering tablet.   
Had I not made an attempt to ease her suffering, upon dying her spirit would   
have found its way to Miss Granger without event. Instead, unfortunately,   
the flowers reacted to the combination of our blood and my desire to save   
the girl and activated to bond her to me."  
  
"Horribly unpredictable things, Bella Nox irises..." Professor Dumbledore   
mumbled in an amused voice.   
  
Severus shot him a glare before continuing. "It appears that Miss Elsing's   
essence was already beginning to show signs of amalgamating with mine.   
To preserver the integrity of their spirit, she and Miss Granger have Merged."  
  
"We thought it would secure our bond," Hermione said as she pressed the hand   
Snape had held to his breast while she was unconscious over her heart, "but   
it didn't work. I still feel so hollow. The only difference is that now I'm..."  
  
"Homogenised like so much milk?" Professor Snape cut in, mimicking back her   
own words to her with a smirk.  
  
"I was going to say combined," she bit back as she tossed a dark look his way.  
  
"I don't know that I'd say it was a complete failure," Poppy said as she held   
her still-active wand in front of her. The tip shone a yellowish green with   
a tinge of brown around the edges. "The rate of your existing Evanescence   
appears to have slowed considerably. Unfortunately, it does look as if your   
fusion with Miss Elsing aggravated the already unstable Bond between yourself   
and Professor Snape."  
  
"What exactly does that mean for us, Poppy?" Severus snapped, unwilling to   
wait for her to get around to the point and feeling increasingly more exhausted   
and irritable by the minute.  
  
Feeling a bit snappish herself after all this excitement at four o'clock in   
the morning, the Mediwitch growled back, "It means, Severus, that until we   
can find a way to stabilize your connection, Miss Granger and yourself will   
have to remain in close proximity. Being outside your immediate vicinity   
with an unfixed link will become increasingly painful for her and in an   
extreme instance would result in a comatose state followed by death."  
  
Severus blinked at her in surprise. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting,   
but that certainly wasn't it. Sinking back on to the couch, a quick glance   
to his left showed that the face of the stricken young woman beside him had   
completely drained of color. Irreverently, it occurred to him that if she   
was that white, then his skin must be ghastly pale because all the blood in   
his body felt as if it were pooled in his feet.   
  
"How close do we have to be?" She asked in a raspy voice that wasn't a   
fraction as tremulous as he knew she felt.  
  
"About five yards at this point," Poppy said as she studied her wand. "Probably   
less by tomorrow. The allowable space will decrease continuously until we   
find a proper ballast for your conjunction."  
  
"Poppy," Albus said as he stroked his beard thoughtfully. "In this instance,   
wouldn't the Sumpsuchos Ritual solve the majority of our problems?" The   
other three occupants of the room gaped at him disbelievingly for a minute   
before Madame Pomfrey was able to sputter a reply.  
  
"Well, technically yes. But, Albus..." She trailed off as she glanced at the   
two figures on the couch still frozen in shock.  
  
"You. Can. NOT. Be. Serious." Professor Snape ultimately managed to grind   
out from between clenched teeth as he gripped the arm of the couch with   
white-knuckled intensity.   
  
Hermione glanced at him uneasily at the deadly silence that had fallen over   
their link. "Isn't the Sumpsuchos Ritual a form of Wizarding marriage?" She   
asked faintly when it became obvious no one else was going to speak. To her   
right Professor Snape was looking distinctly ill and the deathly stillness from   
his side of their bond continued unabated.  
  
"Indeed," the Headmaster replied with his trademark twinkling grin. "One of   
the most ancient wedding rituals in existence. It's scarcely practiced anymore,   
but for over a thousand years it was the primary form of marriage all through   
out Europe. While it wouldn't have been affective with Miranda and Hermione   
separated, since the two of them merged into a single being it's the perfect   
solution!" Dumbledore clapped his hands together once in excited appreciation.   
"You gave me the idea for it earlier, Severus - the ritual is simple enough   
to perform and as a Grand Wizard I have the authority. We need only rouse   
a second witness - You don't mind being the primary witness, do you Poppy?"   
The elder woman shook her head dazedly. "Splendid! Who shall we wake? I'm   
sorry, my dear," he said to Hermione. "Neither Ron nor Harry have reached   
the age of consent. A pity we didn't give them time-turners as well or you   
could have one of them witness for you!"  
  
Snape made a mental note to never jest about being engaged in front of Albus   
Dumbledore EVER again. One sarcastic comment and the barmy old man was   
ready to publish the bans. While he was technically right - the Sumpsuchos   
ritual would solidify the Bond - it was also a legally binding form of   
marriage that eternally united the souls of two people! He doubted very   
highly that the woman next to him would enjoy being tied to his tattered   
spirit for the rest of eternity. At least with their current situation it   
was likely the bond would dissolve once all parties involved were post   
mortem. How in the name of Merlin was he going to get them both out of   
this before the Headmaster chucked them into the nuptial bed?  
  
Hermione turned plaintively to the man next to her for support. In the   
face of the Headmaster's enthusiasm for his idea, she had no doubt that   
alone she would have had little hope of escaping his maneuvering. Feeling   
the simmering indignation starting to filter through their link, she found   
herself profoundly grateful to have Severus Snape for backup. It occurred   
to her that in any prior context she would have been overwhelmed by the   
strangeness of that thought but at the moment she could only find it comforting.  
  
Professor Snape stood abruptly with a jerky motion. "In deference to your   
position as Headmaster and out of courtesy for our years of friendship, I   
will endeavor to pretend you did not just suggest that," he said stiffly.   
"Sumpsuchos is not something to be taken lightly and it is not a ritual that   
anyone should be forced into. Quite frankly, it is also not an option I am   
willing to even consider in relation to one of my students." Rigidly, he   
stalked to a bookcase on the other side of the room. Hermione felt a twinge   
of pain from even that short distance and fought down a wince. Yanking a   
heavy leather book from the shelves, he paged restlessly through it until   
he found what he was looking for. He repressed a shiver as he stared at   
the text. Given how well his existing one was working out, the last thing   
in the world he wanted was another mystical tattoo. But in the face of the   
alternative...  
  
Stalking back to the congregation, he shoved the open volume at the Headmaster.   
"Here," he snarled as he jabbed the page. "The Bridge of Ether should give   
us enough control over the bond to ensure that Miss Granger doesn't expire   
from separation anxiety the next time I have to venture into the Forbidden   
Forrest for Lupin's wolfsbane."  
  
He expected Albus to look deflated after having his idea so thoroughly   
rejected, but instead he looked pleased. Severus' lips thinned as he realised   
that once again the tricky old bastard had maneuvered him into making   
exactly the decision he wanted. The Sumpsuchos suggestion was just to throw   
him off and make the Bridge of Ether look palatable. Merlin knew, he would   
never have considered anything requiring a magical tattoo otherwise.   
  
"Are you certain you weren't in Slytherin?" He asked sourly as he sank back   
down on the couch next to Hermione. The Headmaster ignored his question   
with a smile.  
  
"This is a brilliant idea, Severus. Do you have enough Ether on hand to meet   
the potion's requirements?"  
  
Leaning his head back against the sofa, he closed his eyes and with a   
saturnine grimace mentally reviewed the contents of his storeroom, "Not   
remotely. Ether is the base of the tincture; I'll need at least two bottles   
more. And I'm completely out of powdered Orb of Thessulah." He raised his   
head and pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly. "I should be able to pick   
both up in Diagon Alley without difficulty."   
  
It occurred to him that Miss Granger was being uncharacteristically silent.   
Looking her way, it was readily apparent why. The young witch's head was   
slumped against the sofa in exhaustion and her eyes had drifted closed. He   
found her sudden resemblance to a worn-out toddler entertaining. Feeling his   
amusement through the link, she lifted her head and blinked at him in sleepy incomprehension.  
  
"It appears that further explanation will have to wait," he said with a   
smirk. "Apparently it's past Miss Granger's bed time." At that Madame Pomfrey   
stifled a yawn from her seat by the fire.   
  
"I would say that it's so far past everyone's bed time that the house elves   
will soon be serving breakfast. I think now would be an excellent time for   
all of us to retire," the Headmaster said indulgently. Standing, he offered   
Poppy a hand and helped her to her feet. "I will send a tray to your quarters   
around 12:30 with lunch for the two of you, Severus - do try to at least   
sleep until then. I trust you'll do your best to make Hermione comfortable."  
  
The two people on the couch shared a startled glance at the realisation that   
she would be staying in his quarters. It was one thing to have Poppy say they   
needed to stick close to each other, but being faced with the reality of the   
Headmaster and the Mediwitch walking out the door and leaving them alone   
was another thing entirely. The older wizard took their silence as confirmation   
and placed a reassuring hand on each of their shoulders. "Don't look so   
worried, Severus; I'm sure you and Hermione will be able to sort through   
this mess without difficulty."  
  
The potion master's head came up slowly. "We are in the presence of a student,   
Headmaster. Wouldn't you say the continued familiarity of our first names   
is a touch out of place?"  
  
"I would say, Severus, that in light of this evening events the very least   
the lady has earned is the right to call you by name," Albus replied   
sardonically. "After all, she does know what you taste like."   
  
The professor blanched and Hermione lowered her eyes to study her hands,   
embarrassment at the reminder of her delirious declaration staining her   
cheeks. Through their nebulous link she could feel the man next to her tamp   
down his mortification and draw the tatter threads of his propriety around   
him like a cloak.  
  
"All the more reason to insist upon adhering to proper protocols," he said   
stiffly.   
  
Albus studied him thoughtfully with his familiar grin and then replied, "I   
will of course leave it to you to specify how Hermione addresses you. But   
you may find it difficult to maintain that distance with someone who can   
answer the questions before you ask them."  
  
"And what about that exactly would differ from my existing relationship   
with Miss Granger?" He asked sourly.  
  
"As you will, Severus." Albus answered with a chuckle as he released them.   
"See me this evening after you finish your brewing. I still need your   
official in depth report of last night's events and Poppy will need to   
examine both of you to ensure the Bridge of Ether is sufficient for your   
needs."   
  
The Professor nodded and rose to see the pair out. Bidding the two a final   
good night that was echoed by the woman on his couch, he closed the door   
behind them and turned to lean back against it. His gaze was met by the dark   
haired beauty in a half-dressed tangle with his favorite blanket on the   
sofa. He had opened his mouth to demand the cover back when it occurred   
to him that by now the fabric had no doubt absorbed enough of her scent   
that laying in it would be uncomfortably analogous to being wrapped in her   
arms for his sensitive nose. Having already had enough of that this evening   
to haunt his dreams, he snapped his mouth shut. The young woman suddenly   
squirmed uncomfortably and looked down at her hands with a blush. He cringed   
suddenly as he realised he must have transmitted some of his thoughts to her unconsciously. Letting his head fall back against the door with a thud, he   
scrubbed his hands tiredly over his face.  
  
Would this night never end?  
  
*~*~*~*~*  
  
"Wake me up inside,  
call my name and save me   
from the dark.  
Bid my blood to run,  
before I come undone.  
Save me from  
the nothing I've become."  
  
- Bring Me To Life, Daredevil Soundtrack/Fallen album, Evanescence  
  
*~*~*~*~*  
  
Chapter Notes:  
  
1. Translations:  
Sartor resartus (Latin) - The tailor patched.  
Sumpsuchos (ancient Greek) - of one mind, at unity, united in soul  
  
2. Kudos to everyone who caught the Buffy reference. With all this soul binding stuff, I just couldn't resist!  
  
3. Madeleine Jete: When/why did I read Symposium? I blame it all on "The Butcher's Wife" - remember that sappy Demi Moore movie from the early nineties? They quoted the legend in the Symposium but said it came from a work of Plato's called "The Corruption." After much fruitless searching I found there is no work of his by that title. Took me a while to hunt down the correct piece, but there you have it! Plus I'm a big dork and enjoy classic Greco-Roman literature anyway. ;-) 


	5. Hollow

Chapter Five: Hollow  
  
She had expected to feel different.  
  
Realistically, how was it possible to have two distinct people with their   
own thoughts and experiences combined together into one mind, and there   
be no change? She shifted uncomfortably on the transfigured bed formerly   
known as the sofa. She had expected there to be a transitional period;   
possibly some kind of duality to her thoughts and memories. Instead the   
seamlessness of their alteration was almost perfect. If she had to explain   
it to anyone else, she would say it was like remembering a quiet afternoon   
on her parent's patio reading a book. She could distinctly remember the   
book's contents and her thoughts and opinions on the material, but at the   
same time she had vibrant memories of her surroundings as well; the warm   
sun on her skin, the sweet scent of the honeysuckle edging her mother's   
garden, the cool breeze toying with her hair. Two completely different sets   
of input and information, effortlessly integrated to form a single memory.   
Just as the separate memories of her existence as Hermione and Miranda   
had assimilated flawlessly into a solitary history.  
  
The lack of dichotomy completely surprised her.  
  
Madame Pomfrey and the Headmaster had explained Homopsuchos to her. But   
even though she had felt the connection between the two halves of her soul   
while in limbo, none of that prepared her for the reality of integration.   
Had Hermione and Miranda always had the same thought patterns? Or had their   
merger somehow altered her perceptions? She felt the same, she thought she   
thought the same, but how could she be sure? And most frighteningly, who   
was she now? Who did she want to be? She found it equally comfortable to   
refer to herself as either name, a fact that in itself made her uneasy. She   
was in the possession of two separate, individually wonderful, identities.   
Each with goals, history, and people that they loved and loved them. But   
only one body...  
  
"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and sorry I could not travel both..."   
She whispered to herself in the darkness.  
  
It was an unavoidable conclusion. She could not be two places at one time   
indefinitely; not even with magic. One of her lives would have to be cast   
off. But how do you choose to abandon an entire existence? This was the   
thought that kept her up in spite of the fact that she was so tired she'd   
literally dozed off in the middle of the Headmaster and Severus' conversation   
earlier. Before she could even note the irony of it, a sudden realisation   
stopped her cold:  
  
Severus.  
  
She had just thought of Professor Snape as Severus. This was the first   
discernable difference she'd come across between who she was before and   
who she had become. Hermione would have fallen out of bed to find herself   
thinking of the man sleeping fitfully in the other room as Severus whereas   
Miranda wouldn't have considered calling him anything else, whether it was   
in her head or to his face. Whoever she was now found it comfortable to   
think of him in such a manner, but felt that she'd have no trouble calling   
him 'Professor' out loud. Though the thought of him being affected by her   
scent earlier had given her quite a turn, she thought wryly. The new her   
decided she was unwilling to examine whether she considered it a good turn   
or a bad turn for quite a while yet.  
  
She sighed quietly. It was really quite tiresome not to have a name to call oneself. In either of her prior incarnations, when mentally referring to herself she had always gone by her last name. But being no longer simply Granger or Elsing what was she to choose? A moment's quiet introspection brought to mind the single common denominator to her identity: As Hermione her middle name was Catherine, where Miranda was Cathleen. Both names could easily be shortened to Cat - not exactly a normal name, but she couldn't stand the thought of being something as ordinary as 'Cathy.' Cat was a good name, it was a name that encompassed who she was before and who she would now choose to be. Even if she didn't know who that was yet.  
  
"Cat," She said quietly to herself, "I'm Cat." It was somehow very empowering to be able to take this name for herself. As unlikely as it was that she would ever get to share this name with the rest of the world, it just made her feel better to have the certainty of knowing who she was inside. If only all the decisions she had to make were this simple, she thought with a sigh.  
  
On a whim, she rose quietly from the transfigured couch and, ignoring the twinge of pain from skirting the edge of the bond's current limits, glided soundlessly to the bathroom Severus had shown her before retiring. Easing the door shut, she stepped back and looked critically into the full length mirror on the back of the door. Hermione stared back at her.   
  
Unexpectedly, she had to choke back tears. WHY wasn't there some physical sign of her change to make this easier? It just wasn't fair! She couldn't desert Harry and Ron, couldn't turn her back on the magic or ignore the fact that there was a war coming. But at the same time, how could she be expected to abandon all the hard work she'd put into getting admitted to Uni a year early? She was top of her class in Physics and had already decided to pursue a career in that field. Why, the University Faculty had even given her permission to begin the specialist study for her MA after only a year of her degree!  
  
And now she would have to throw it all away.  
  
Her apartment in Notting Hill, her Saturday afternoon Teas with Mrs. Saunders, everything that made up that life was now behind her. There was no choice really and she knew it. Voldemort was here and real, regardless of what the Ministry said. And she knew first hand just how active his Death Eaters were. Having seen the face of true evil, she couldn't go back to the simple ignorance of a muggle college student. How could she live with herself if she knew that darkness was out there and did nothing to combat it? And the only way she would have the opportunity to do so was as Hermione Granger. Miranda Elsing was truly dead.  
  
She didn't realise she'd sunk to the ground weeping until she felt his arms close around her.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
It was her sorrow that woke him.  
  
Severus Snape was no stranger to sadness, but his brief bond to Miss Granger had already taught him a valuable lesson: Everyone's pain has its own unique flavor. Where his own tasted of ashes and regret, the young woman he was linked to was the biting cold of an icy winter stream. Sharp and clear and, in its own way, determined to reshape every inch of ground it poured over.  
  
He felt it wash over him in his restless sleep and before he was even fully awake he was on his feet and following that heartache to its source. It was only as he was wrenching the bathroom door open that it occurred to him courtesy demanded knocking first. Once he saw her teary form huddled on the floor he was glad he hadn't bothered. She obviously needed this and he wasn't about to deny it to her.   
  
Before he could reconsider he was on his knees gathering her close. The miserable shaking creature in his arms clung to him instinctively, sobbing into his neck. Normally he had no patience for weeping women. Have grown up in a Slytherin household and being one himself, it was well-known that tears were simply another weapon in the female arsenal. Crying was an act he normally looked upon with the same suspicion he would a Malfoy bearing gifts - An obvious tactical move designed to bring about the realisation of a specific goal, with no real emotional significance. That, however, was an impossible opinion to maintain when he was being buffeted by the waves of wretchedness she was unconsciously projecting.  
  
"It's not fair!" She wailed as she began to pound angrily on his chest. "I don't want to let Miranda's life die!"  
  
He caught her wrists and forced her back a couple inches. Transferring both wrists to one hand, he tilted her chin up with the other so she would have to meet his eyes. "Miss Granger, a wise man once said that death does not concern us, because as long as we exist, death is not here. Even if you choose not to physically continue the path of Miranda's life, she still exists in you, and through you, lives." For a long minute they stared solemnly into each other's eyes as her tears dried on her cheeks.   
  
Slowly he released his grip on her and looked down with a sigh, placing his hands on his knees. The silence weighed heavily on them both before he finally began to speak. "I am not known for offering my students apologies…" Before she could catch herself, she snorted sarcastically at his understatement. Clapping a hand across her mouth in horror, she was abashed when he met her gaze squarely and didn't even stop to glare at her. "But if ever there was one that deserved an apology from me, it is undoubtedly you."  
  
I doubt I'm the only one, she couldn't help but think uncharitably.   
  
"No," he answered with a self-depreciative chuckle as her thought reached him. "Doubtlessly you're not the only one."   
  
My world keeps getting stranger and stranger, she thought as she shared a grin with the formidable Potions Master. She took a moment to absorb the absolutely surreal scene she found herself in the middle of: half-naked on the floor of the most dreaded professor at Hogwarts' bathroom with said professor kneeling before her in a rumpled (and unexpectedly adorable) set of men's pyjamas. It occurred to her that in the almost eight years she'd known this man - the extra year courtesy of her time turner use - she had never seen him smile before tonight. She was surprised at how disappointing she found the sight of that smile faltering and melting into an expression of seriousness once again.  
  
"My apology is quite useless." Their brief levity forgotten, the grave timbre of his voice and thoughts resonated over her. "There is nothing I could say that would restore what my actions have inadvertently cost you, and the part I played in your Homopsuchos' demise is unforgivable." She opened her mouth to refute, but he silenced her with a raised hand. "I do not seek your forgiveness. As Miranda said, good intentions aside I am her murderer. Any extenuating circumstances are irrelevant. But there is something I can do for you..." Taking her hands, he rose and pulled her to her feet. Releasing her left hand, with a twist of his wrist an ebony wand slid down into his grip.  
  
"You sleep with your wand?" She queried in amusement before she could stop herself.   
  
"You don't?" he asked with a cocked eyebrow as if even the possibility was inconceivable. Of course, she realised; growing up in the Slytherin dorms probably made sleeping unprotected extremely unwise. It made her thankful to be in Gryffindor where her rest was unplagued by worries of her roommates attacking her under cover of night.   
  
Raising his wand to her in a formal salute, the air surrounding them charged with power as a spell began to flow from his lips, "Peccavi in gremio legis..."   
  
*I have sinned in defense of the law…* She was so surprised to hear a spell that was more than three words long, it took her a moment to realise the translation of his words was what was echoing in her mind.   
  
"Honoris causa cedo maiori corrigenda." *For the sake of honour I yield to a greater person things to be corrected.* Dropping formally to one knee, he bent his head over the hand he still clasped and ceremonially pointed his wand to the ground at her feet. As she concentrated on the translation, she realised it was less a spell than a magical vow. "Incipit nomine Fidei Defensor." *Beginning here, name me Defender of your Faith* His head rose enough to kiss the knuckles of her hand. The field of magic surrounding them coalesced in the air like warm molasses. Bowing his head once more, he pressed his forehead to her hand. "Voto viva voce factum est!" *Vowed with living voice, it is done!*   
  
The energy swelled with his final words and imploded with an almost audible crack. The gossamer threads of it settled over her skin like a web before sinking softly into her. She shivered as the warm tingle of power filled her veins and raced in her blood. Light headed and dizzy, she would have fallen if he hadn't been expecting that reaction and rose quickly to catch her. "Did you just make yourself my Guardian?" She asked as the world continued to spin around her.  
  
"More like your Protector," he answered as he shifted his grip to keep her from sliding to the floor.   
  
"There's a difference?" She queried weakly as she fought to raise her head to look at him.   
  
His mouth quirked in amusement at her struggle. Uncharacteristically taking pity on her, his hand rose to cup the back of her head and steady her. "Quite," he solemnly replied.  
  
"Oh," she said faintly, the woozy feeling somehow worse now that he was holding her still. "You'll have to explain it to me..." she mumbled as the dizziness finally overwhelmed her. The curly head sagged against his chest as she fainted.  
  
"I'm sure you'll take delight in wringing the explanation from me tomorrow," he chuckled ruefully to himself as he bent to lift her. The unconscious girl snuggled into his arms, causing him to shake his head in exasperation. "Too bad you're not awake, at least then I could take some house points for nuzzling a teacher," he muttered as he eased them both sideways out the door. As if in response she cuddled closer. Shaking his head again, he laughed, "Gryffindors. Even unconscious you're insolent." But for once, his tone held no malice.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
Just after noon, Saturday morning...  
  
The thud of a heartbeat against her ear was the first thing that registered before she opened her eyes. In the face of this incongruity, she lay there silently and took stock of her environment. The springy mattress and smooth sheets were testament to the fact that she was obviously in a bed. Beneath her cheek, soft cottony fabric reverberated with a pulse and strong arms were draped loosely around her waist. Wracking her fuzzy memory, she tried to recall any events that might have led her to waking up in bed with an unknown man.  
  
She stiffened as last night's proceedings came back to her abruptly. The man beneath her tightened his grip, murmuring sleepily in response and immediately she knew who he was. "Severus," she whispered as her eyes blinked open.   
  
Leveling herself off his chest, she propped her head up with her hand and surveyed her sleeping bedmate. If she didn't know from the link that the man in front of her was Severus Snape, she would never have recognized him. Outside of his austere teaching robes and without the perpetual scowl that accompanied them, he looked like a completely different person. Unthinkingly, she reached up with her free hand a brushed a lock of hair from his face. Trailing her fingertips down his face, she rested her palm on the buttons of his nightshirt.  
  
Try as she may, she couldn't remember how she ended up in bed with her professor. The last thing she could recall was passing out on him in the bathroom mid-conversation. Idly noting the contrast between her pale skin and the dark green of his sleep shirt, it occurred to her to wonder about her lack of panic at waking up in such a bizarre situation. After much consideration, she realised the reason behind her calm acceptance was obvious.  
  
She trusted him.  
  
Professor Severus Snape, the only son of one of the most premiere old-blood wizarding families, Death Eater, spy, and a universally disliked bastard was paradoxically one of the few people on the planet who held her complete and utter trust. His old-fashioned sense of honour coupled with the Vow he'd made to her before she passed out guaranteed she was safe in his presence. And from what she'd learned of the man through Miranda's forays into his subconscious, even if the Vow hadn't made him her Defender, she still would have been reassured that he must have a really good reason for putting her in bed with himself.   
  
"I can't wait to hear what it is," she chuckled lightly to herself. Her quiet laughter roused the man beside her. With a sinuous stretch, he unfolded his arms from around her and extended them above his head. Beneath her hand, she could feel the slide of his muscles against the shirt. Rubbing his hands across his face before flopping them back on the pillow behind him, he opened his eyes and smiled blearily at her.  
  
"Morning, Hermione," he said sleepily as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes once more. She giggled at his tired incomprehension as he jerked up to a sitting position, throwing her hand off his chest. "HERMIONE GRANGER?!"  
  
Cat, she surprised herself by mentally correcting him. She hadn't intended to share that name with anyone...  
  
Scrubbing a hand through his hair, he cocked an eyebrow at her. "Cat?" The eyebrow arched higher, "You're calling yourself Cat?" The corners of his mouth twitched as if he was fighting back a smile.  
  
"What's wrong with Cat?" She snapped, bristling defensively.  
  
"Nothing," he smirked as he lost the fight against a sarcastic smile. "It's frighteningly apropos..." An image of her botched polyjuice transfiguration flashed from his mind to hers in all its feline glory.   
  
She couldn't help but blush in embarrassment, "That's not where I got it from."  
  
"I should hope not," he jeered at her. The tone was biting, but she could feel his amusement through the link and that softened the affect. She found herself grinning at him unrepentantly and he surprised her by smiling back. His expression became severe, as if suddenly remembering she was a student. "I'm surprised, Miss Granger - Climbing into bed with a professor is a more Slytherin move than I would have thought you capable of. If this was an attempt to get me to raise your Potion's scores, it's ridiculously misplaced," he snarled at her. "What exactly are you doing here?" He was discomfited by the amusement leaking through the bond. It was disheartening to have this slip of a girl be entertained by him growling at her.  
  
Meanwhile, the young woman beside him was musing on how much easier his sarcasm was to take when you could feel the worry and concern behind it - And how comical it was that her newfound immunity to his barbs was making him uncomfortable. "I was hoping you could tell me," she replied with a sly smile. "The last thing I remember is passing out in your arms."  
  
His mouth dropped open to reply, but his speech was stalled by the thoughtful look that stole over his face. A sudden wave of mortification rolled through their connection as his foggy memory cleared and his jaw snapped closed.   
  
"How DID I get into your bed, Professor?" She asked in a mock-innocent voice.  
  
Pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, he closed his eyes and mumbled an inaudible answer.  
  
"What was that?" She wheedled with saccharine sweetness, even though him answer had transmitted clearly through the link. "I couldn't understand you."  
  
"Damn it, woman! Must I say it out loud? I know you 'heard' me!" He snarled at her. His irritation buffeted her through the bond. Chastised, she looked away and was about to let him off the hook when she was interrupted by his growling reply. "Fine. I put you here."  
  
"Damn Gryffindors," he grumbled unhappily at her mental surge of triumph as he closed his eyes and leaned back against the headboard. "As if Albus wasn't bad enough…" The heavy feeling of her stare on his face prompted him to open his eyes. Meeting her gaze he barked at her challengingly, "Well? Shall I begin packing and looking for other employment?"  
  
"What?!" She yelped in surprise.  
  
Rolling his eyes at her naivete, he replied evenly, "Miss Granger if you were in my house, I could trust you to use this morning as a bargaining chip like any proper Slytherin. Since you're a Gryffindor, I'm sure your righteous sensibilities would be horrified by any attempt to bribe you into silence. Thus I can only assume that the Headmaster will shortly be regaled by your harrowing tale of awaking trapped in the resident vampire's fiendish embrace." The even tone petered out and was replaced by heavy bitterness, "I doubt the School's board would look kindly on any Professor that had an impressionable female student in his quarters after hours. Let alone one with a history as...colorful...as mine."   
  
His distress and pain at the prospect of being forced to abandon the sanctuary that Hogwarts had represented to him for almost twenty years was nearly enough to drown her. "I'm sorry," she choked out. "I shouldn't have goaded you like that." Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath to calm herself, she intentionally opened the gates of her mental defenses to allow him to feel the truth of her explanation. "I have no intention of reporting you, Professor. I doubt very seriously that anything you've done needs reporting. Even if I couldn't read your mind and you weren't my Protector, by virtue of who you are and what I know you've done for the Order I would still have given you the benefit of the doubt. Combine all those things and I trust you implicitly."  
  
Her open candor cut through his animosity like a hot knife through butter. Her simple declaration would have dented his armour on his most cynical day, but combined with her telepathic projection of the trust she felt in him it was enough to render the normally caustic man speechless. He considered and rejected several responses before settling on a heartfelt, "Thank you."  
  
She nodded her head in acceptance. It's no more than you deserve, she sent to him mentally. "Why did you bring me to your bed?" She asked out loud, not giving him a chance to reply to her silent commendation.  
  
Feeling drained by his unaccustomed fluctuation of emotions, he ignored her soundless communique and replied simply. "When I put you down in the parlor and tried to walk into my bedroom you cried out. This time even I felt uneasy at the distance. Apparently the allowable space for the bond has shrank as Poppy projected it would." At this he looked almost sheepish, "Technically I suppose I should have just moved the transfigured sofa closer to the door, but it just seemed easier to pick you up and take you with me."   
  
"Okay," she said definitively. "I understand." The Potion Master seemed flustered by her easy reception to his explanation.  
  
"Okay? I tell you I abandoned propriety because I was too lazy to cast a levitation spell, and your only response is 'Okay'?" Shaking his head, he sneered at her, "Such unthinking acceptance is ill-fitting on anyone outside of House Hufflepuff. Don't you know that some snakes eat badgers, little girl?" The words were harsh, but their underlying tone was teasing.   
  
Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she leaned forward, "You'll find it hard to wrap your jaws around this lioness, Slytherin." Placing her hand against his chest to steady herself, she leaned up to whisper in his ear, "And I'm no little girl..." Easing back slowly, she could see that his eyes had darkened to a dangerously gleaming black. A warm flush of realisation spread over her as she recognised that dark glitter as desire.  
  
He felt as if his body had frozen down to the molecular level when she touched him. The soft puff of her breath against the rim of his ear affected him like a physical caress. When she pulled back to search his eyes, limiting his projections and refraining from dragging her back to him required conscious effort. Reaching up slowly, he wrapped his hand around hers and lifted it away from himself with deliberate gentleness. Pasting on a strained smirk, he nudged her back. "So Kitten has claws, does she?" Squeezing in a painfully tight warning before releasing her hand, he leaned forward to leer at her, "Best put them away, little Cat. You're not big enough to play this game yet." His face was so close to hers that they were sharing the same air. The glint in his dark eyes was hypnotic and she found herself leaning forward to meet him subconsciously.  
  
The sharp rap of a house elf's knock at the bedroom door broke the spell and pulled them apart with a jerk. Severus rolled abruptly off the bed to meet the tiny creature and Cat's breath escaped her body in a shaky rush. Shivering, she wrapped her arms protectively around her stomach. What the hell was that?! Had she really been about to KISS one of her professors? And not just any professor, but Severus Snape! The personal nemesis of anyone who had the misfortune of walking into his class draped in scarlet and gold. A man who, until yesterday, she had been quite certain despised her.  
  
"Miss Granger!" His sharp voice knifed into her reverie and the quick jerk of her head in his direction was pavlovian. "At your convenience..." He bowed sneeringly and waved towards the table he'd conjured in front of his bedroom fireplace. Gone was his earlier teasing sarcasm and she found herself unexpectedly aching at its loss. In its velvet place were the biting tones and cutting derision she'd been subjected to every Potions lesson since she was eleven. Snape-the-Bastard was back and from the glare he was shooting her for not removing herself from his bed immediately, he appeared to be staying.  
  
Scrambling from beneath the sheets, she paused awkwardly as the cold air hitting her legs reminded her of her current state of undress. Turning with an exasperated sigh, Snape plucked a knife from the table, transfigured it into a dressing robe, and tossed it to her. Shrugging gratefully into the garment, a detached part of her noted the quality of his transmogrification. Transforming items of different relative sizes and composition was not effortless by any means, but he had done it ease. This settled a longtime debate she'd had with herself: he wasn't contemptuous of "foolish wand waving" because he was incapable, his aversion stemmed instead from his degree of competency.  
  
The Professor sat as she slid into her seat and breakfast was a terse, quiet affair. Afterwards as they sat finishing up their tea, she gathered her courage and with a deep breath met his eyes for the first time in a half-hour, "What is the Bridge of Ether? And how is a Guardian different from a Defender?"  
  
He pursed his lips sourly, "At least give me the opportunity to finish my tea before you begin bombarding me with questions, Miss Granger." But his relief at her desire to put this morning's incident behind them rolled over her in a soothing wave.   
  
Unwilling to disturb their fragile peace, she masked her smile behind a sip from her own teacup.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
"When all this time I've been so hollow inside,  
I know you're still there..."  
- Haunted, Fallen Album, Evanescence  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
Chapter Notes:  
  
1. "Two roads diverged..." - The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost.  
  
2. "Death does not concern us..." - Paraphrased from the translation of Diogenes Laertius (Lives of Eminent Philosophers) by Epicurus.  
  
3. If you want links to either of the above, you'll have to ask. FF.net never posts the URL's when I try to include them. Wow, don't I sound all pretentious with my source quoting? I can hear it now: "10 points from Ravenclaw for your overzealous use of obscure classical literature!" Hermione'd be so proud…*snickers*  
  
4. My Latin sucks. I have no doubt Sev's protection oath is grammatically incorrect. If anyone knows the right conjugations, let me know - I'll be happy to correct it! 


	6. What I'm Without

Sorry for the delay, all! Writer's block struck but has been since conquered. Expect Chapter 7 next week...  
  
NOTE: This fic is R rated. You have been warned - please react accordingly.  
  
Chapter Six: What I'm Without  
  
She was patiently silent as she waited for him to finish off his cup and, quite frankly, he found the quiet unnerving. Not that he wanted her to revert to the unprompted chatter of her eleven-year-old self, but upon consideration he was certain that even the Hermione who'd sat in his classroom on Friday would've been incapable of maintaining this type of serene introspection for more than a minute. It made him wonder suddenly just how deep the changes prompted by her merger with Miranda ran. Her decision to choose a new name for herself abruptly made perfect sense. Miranda may have been the one to die physically, but for all practical purposes, the girl who'd raised her hand at every question during Friday's lesson was gone as well. The addition of seventeen years worth of experiences and living her brutal murder had left an indelible mark. The young woman sitting affably across from him was practically a different person from the Gryffindor know-it-all who'd plagued his Potions class for the past seven years.  
  
Does that make the fact that you almost kissed her this morning better or worse, Severus? He asked himself sourly. Downing the rest of his tea in a gulp, he resolutely pushed those thoughts away as he set his cup down. "Accio Book!" He called with a swish of his wand and the leather bound tome from last night zipped into his hands.  
  
The witch across the table from him sat her own cup down but continued to watch him without interruption. Thumbing through the heavy volume, he quickly came to the page he had shown Albus and handed it to her. She cocked an eyebrow at him, but instead of waiting for a reply bent her head to the book and quickly read through the section he had pointed to.  
  
"As you can see," he said as he donned his best teaching voice like a robe. "The Bridge of Ether is a combination of several components. The first of course is the potion, which we will be gathering ingredients for today in Diagon Alley."  
  
"The recipe appears almost ridiculously simple," she said abstractly as she ran a fingertip over the instructions.  
  
"That's because it is," He snapped as he took the book away from her, irritated by her interruption. "Even Mr. Longbottom would be hard pressed to turn this particular brew into a catastrophe."  
  
She frowned at him prettily. "But how can something so simple hold the force necessary to stabilize the Bond? I thought a potion's power was directly related to the difficulty inherent in it's brewing?"  
  
"Many of the uninitiated think that," He sneered condescendingly. "While the more complex potions are known to yield exceptionally vivid results, there is a certain stability that should not be overlooked in simplicity, Miss Granger." Flipping several pages, he handed the volume back to her. "If you would desist in your pointless interruptions, I would explain." The glare she shot him would've felled a lesser man, but he just found it amusing. "The Bridge of Ether is comprised of the potion and several spells which culminate in a wizard tattoo, as you can see on the page before you."  
  
"A wizard tattoo?" She said distrustfully, "Like the Dark Mark?"  
  
He blanched at her description, but couldn't refute, as it was unfortunately right on target. "The Dark Mark is actually a perversion of this very spell," he replied softly. A wave of nausea swept over him and he couldn't help but wonder if it originated from himself or the slightly green-faced woman across the table. Even if it was from her, he could hardly blame her for feeling ill: the thought of the Dark Mark's more distinguished cousin gracing his skin made him feel slightly sick as well. "The Bridge of Ether was traditionally used by Shield Mates or Lovers. It forms a solid, unbreakable, connection between two individuals. Our existing Bond will be able to make use of that bridge to stabilize itself. Like the Dark Mark, the Bridge of Ether will allow us to pinpoint each other's position for apparating and make us constantly aware of one another's condition. The telepathy," he wryly smirked, "will not be noticeably different from what we currently enjoy." His subtle stress on the word 'enjoy' brought an answering smirk to her face before she could stop it.  
  
Her expression smoothed out as she took a deep breath and attempted to come to terms with this new information. The thought of a wizard tattoo permanently etched on her skin was not appealing. And that was before you took into account the powers associated with it! "What will the tattoo be of?" she asked finally. "Not a snake-wrapped skull like the Dark Mark, I hope!" she yelped in a startled afterthought.  
  
"I sincerely doubt it," he said as he leaned over and pointed to a spot further down the page than she'd yet to reach in her reading. "The tattoo will take its shape from relevant aspects of our individual personalities and reflect who we are together. Though I'm quite confident," he stated with an evil smile, "that my contribution to the design will be a serpent of some type."  
  
She couldn't hold back her snicker, "You should thank Merlin it's me in this situation with you instead of Pavarati or Lavender. You'd end up with lipstick or a curling wand with a snake wrapped around it, for sure."  
  
"If it were Miss Brown or Miss Patil I would not BE in this situation," he quirked with an exasperated roll of his eyes. Oblivious to his insinuation that her involvement was the deciding factor in his participation, the Professor reached over and turned the page while she gaped at him. "The potion's influence is amplified by the combination of the other components. Once we finish brewing, the infusion is allowed to cool while we engage in ritual meditation. You do know how to meditate, don't you?" He looked up at her and she nodded at him dumbly. Looking down, she followed along through the section in the book he was pointing at. "After the meditation, we will consecrate ourselves inside a Circle with the potion in a silver chalice."  
  
"We're actually going to consecrate a Circle?" Hermione broke in excitedly. Circles were considered Old Magic and were rarely used in modern spell casting. Having the opportunity to participate in one for a legitimate spell was a rare experience for any witch in today's wizarding world and the prospect thrilled her. A fragment of remembered reading floated through her head and she squinted down at the printed words suspiciously. "Isn't consecrating a Circle supposed to be done in the nude?"  
  
Severus swallowed sharply at the thought of Hermione's lithe form swaying nakedly through the Rite of Consecration. "We'll pick up some raw silk robes. As long as they haven't been dyed and are hand sewn, we should be able to bypass that particular requirement." Standing up, he moved around the table and pointed over her shoulder to a section on the next page. "After the Circle is consecrated, we drink the potion and cast Kundalini on each other."  
  
"Kundalini? The spell of Chakra Illumination?" Tilting her head up to look at him as he towered over her shoulder, she shrugged at his inquiring look; "I did a project on it over the summer."  
  
"Aside from Divination, what could you possibly need to do extra studying in? If you don't require additional tutoring for MY class, I'd be hard pressed to believe you're scores in Charms or Transfiguration were lacking," he sneered down at her.  
  
"I didn't say I *needed* it," she answered frankly. "I just like being able to bring books home with me over the holidays. The only way we muggle-born students are allowed to do so is if we're signed up for a holiday project assignment."  
  
"Taking on superfluous work just to have books available over the break..." Shaking his head, he chuckled. "And all this time I thought you were nothing but an ostentatious show off, Miss Granger. Who knew your behaviour all these years has been prompted by nothing more than a truly epic case of bibliophilia?"  
  
"This should scarcely come as a surprise to the man who's caught me sneaking into the Library after hours at least once a week for the past seven years," she laughed.  
  
"Indeed," he replied with a smirk. "I had you in Friday evening detentions so often your fourth year the Headmaster accused me of trying to keep you as an unauthorized teacher's aide." It was well known that Professors were allowed to take fifth year students and higher as teacher's assistants, but only with the Headmaster's approval.  
  
"Naturally you disabused him of such a ridiculous notion," she said as she smiled up at him. Genuine affection infused the grin, as if she were speaking to a cherished friend and not Hogwart's most hated professor.  
  
"Naturally." He surprised them both by smiling wryly back down at her. "I told him it wasn't my fault you Gryffindors are so inept at sneaking back from moonlit trysts."  
  
She threw her head back and howled with laughter; the action resting her nest of curls in an unnoticed pile against his stomach. "Moonlit trysts!" She sputtered before dramatically placing the back of her hand against her forehead as if swooning. "Ah yes, my illicit love affair with Hogwarts: A History! In secret we met - in silence I grieve..."  
  
"That thy heart could forget, thy spirit deceive..." He finished mockingly as he rested his hands on the top of her chair.  
  
"You've read Lord Byron!" She blinked up at him in pleasant shock. "But, but he's a muggle!" Normally he would have been offended by the intimation of such a remark, but with her happy surprise at finding someone at Hogwarts who'd heard of her favorite poet ringing through him, it was impossible to take the statement in any way other than the one it was intended. Very few modern wizards in even Ravenclaw, the most studious house, were inclined to read anything written by non-magical individuals that was less than two thousand years old, to say nothing of a not-so- former Death Eater/Slytherin. Finding anyone in the magical world who even acknowledged that there was a use for poetry outside its spell casting applications was an astonishing feat in itself.  
  
"If you examine my shelves, you'll find my reading material is untouched by such prosaic concerns." His dark eyes looked down searchingly into hers. It was suddenly strangely important to him to know that she, of all people, didn't see just him as the role he was forced into playing to maintain his spying position for the Order. "Does that surprise you?" he was almost startled to hear his own voice ask solemnly. His entire body tensed as he awaited her answer. He didn't know what had possessed him to voice such a query, but now that it was done he found that he desperately wanted to know her answer. At the heart of that question was one he'd found himself pondering many a dark night: Was he redeemable? After all these years, was there anything of the man behind the role of "Evil Professor Snape" left? And even if there was, what did it matter if not even the woman who had free reign to read his heart and mind could see it?  
  
The laughter melted from her eyes and she met his gaze squarely. Through their connection, the layers of subtext to his inquiry swam in her mind. Her heart hurt at the thought of a man who had given up so much of himself to fight the Dark doing so with no confirmation from those around him that they saw past the mask he was forced to wear. "No," she practically whispered, willing him to know that she saw past the facade. "It doesn't surprise me at all." Instinctively, her hand came up to clasp his where he'd curved it around the top of her chair.  
  
The corners of his mouth curled up in the closest approximation of a fond smile to grace his features in longer than he could remember. The earnestness of her reply, both audible and mental, warmed him and diffused the stiffness that had crept in his posture. His acceptance of her meaning flowed through the bond and with a contented sigh, in relief she sagged lower in her seat. Leaning her head further back against him, she gave his hand an unthinking squeeze.  
  
It was then that he realised the danger inherent in the link that they shared. In less than a day, with the help of their bond, the woman in front of him had managed to tear through his carefully constructed walls like they were paper. No one had ever had this kind of affect on him. His suspicious Slytherin nature had no defense ready for simple heart-felt Gryffindor honesty. And with the open access to her psyche he currently enjoyed, there was no way he could deny the plain truth of her feelings:  
  
She respected him. She admired his intelligence. She trusted him. And when he wasn't being a condescending bastard, she was comfortable enough in his presence to joke with him. To comfort him. And most unbelievable of all, had the house elf this morning not interrupted them, she would have kissed him. Not because she was trying to get a better grade or to garner some kind of blackmail material, but simply because at that moment she'd wanted to. And while that understandably confused the hell out of her, by no means did it disgust her.  
  
He could only wish his own feelings were so straightforward. Or, for that matter, that he had the luxury of considering them. The bottom line was that she was a student and he was her Professor. It was worth his job and her reputation, not to mention both their lives if the Dark Lord found out, for them to be involved in any other fashion. Their bond and his Protection vow would put them in enough of a precarious situation if either ever came to light. Teachers don't get soul-bound to their students and Death Eaters don't swear to Protect mudbloods. The last thing they needed was to have the extra stigmata of, what? Being friends? Dare he even consider it, being lovers? He shivered at the thought of taking her back to his bed under even more...inappropriate... circumstances than last night's.  
  
Looking down at the soft chestnut curls spilling over his green fabric- covered chest, he took a moment to savor the sensation of a willing woman comfortable and lounging practically in his arms. As much as their current intimate position may belie it, there was no denying that their world held no place for this improper familiarity. But if he was going to have to go back to being Snape-the-Bastard, he was at least going to enjoy this sweet fantasy a minute longer.  
  
As if she'd heard his thoughts, she rose from her chair and turned to stand in front of him. Sliding her arms around his waist, she tilted her head up to meet his eyes. "Conjure us an hourglass," she commanded quietly.  
  
"Miss Granger, what?" he sputtered in shock at her sudden move to embrace him.  
  
She placed a finger on his lips to silence him. "We have one more minute. I'd prefer not to waste it." His body jerked in her arms as he realised that he must have projected his entire mental discourse to her. It was very discomfiting to realise how bare he'd just laid his soul open to her. The temptation to pull back into his familiar shell was almost overwhelming. "The hourglass, Severus," she said firmly, dragging him from his uncomfortable thoughts.  
  
Her use of his given name laid out the terms for their encounter as plainly as if she'd spoken them aloud. For one minute, they would cast off their public personas. Professor Snape and Miss Granger would cease to exist and, for a short time, would be replaced by Severus and Cat. A man and a woman who wanted nothing more than to hold one another. And when the last grain of sand drained from the hourglass, he would once again become the resident greasy git and she would resume the roll of Gryffindor's Head-know-it-all and they would never, ever, speak of their stolen minute again. "This sort of thing never works as planned, you know," he calmly stated, his mouth brushing lightly against the finger she'd pressed to his lips as he searched her eyes.  
  
"Very little in life goes according to plan," she responded wryly as she slipped her arms up to wrap around his neck.  
  
"Indeed," he said as he slid his wand out. "Tempio Assanti!" he cried and tossed his wand onto the table next to the conjured hourglass, freeing both hands to pull her closer. Determined not to waste a moment of their precious time, he wrapped a hand in her curls and dragged her mouth to his.  
  
*~*~*~*~*  
  
Sweet Titania! She thought dizzily as her every sense was invaded by his essence. As Miranda she had been kissed by this man before, but it hadn't remotely prepared her for this. In the Malfoy dungeons, he'd kissed her for a purpose and a reason relating to the Greater Good. Now he was kissing her for himself with all the hunger of a beggar at the king's banquet, and OH! The difference it made!  
  
Ease dropping on his mental tête-à-tête, she'd found herself agreeing with him on every point. Their situation did put them in an uprecedentedly dangerous position on any number of fronts. There was too much at stake for them to alter their behaviour in any way, but she was astonished to find that she did wish to change their conduct radically. Having seen the teasing, sarcastic version of the man in her arms, it made the bitingly cynical version that much harder to bear. When he'd considered being her friend, she'd felt like her heart would explode at the thought of having someone FINALLY who could understand the way her brain worked. Someone intelligent enough in their own right not to be overwhelmed by her intellect; someone who would challenge her and welcome her ready mind and quick wit as a foil for their own. Knowing the he had the capacity to be that kind of friend to her, and she to him, made the entire concept of their relationship evolving into something more than a student/teacher one sound frightfully appealing.  
  
While she had never been aware of him physically until today, waking up in his arms and their almost kiss of earlier had opened her eyes to the possibilities. So when he thought of becoming her lover, the accompanying images he'd unintentionally sent her associated with that consideration sent a bolt of heat shock through her body.  
  
*the two of them, back in his bed, gloriously naked with her legs wrapped tightly around his waist as he pounded her into the mattress*  
  
Having never slept with anyone as either Miranda or Hermione, the fleeting sensation of what sex felt like from a male perspective lit up her nerve endings in a way she'd never experienced and left her aching to be the soft abandon he imagined plunging into. While she'd understood the mechanics of sex for years, her teenage fumblings under both identities had never roused in her this almost painful longing to have a man inside her.  
  
Not any man, she corrected herself. Just Severus. So when he'd decided to give them one more minute of inappropriate closeness, she'd resolved that they wouldn't waste that time with her sitting demurely in front of him. If this single breach of etiquette was supposed to last them indefinitely, she wanted something more definitive to remember than holding his hand.  
  
A sudden thrust of his hips against hers brought her back to the present. The proof of his desire pressing hot and hard against her stomach sent a rush of excitement tingling through her and she moaned into his mouth as she pulled him impossibly closer. The tie of the dressing gown he'd transfigured for her had come loose and the robe fallen open, removing a layer of unwelcome barrier from between her flesh and his. The cotton of his pyjamas was seductively soft the bare skin of her legs and she found herself wrapping a leg around his hip to increase their contact. He gasped appreciatively as the move aligned her body properly against his and removed the hand he'd wrapped in her hair to run it sensuously along the naked skin of her upper thigh.  
  
The hot brush of his fingertips sliding along her skin burned like fire. Please...her mind whispered to his, begging for even more of his touch. "Severus..." She groaned aloud as she tilted her head back. He hands found her waist and lifted her up, giving her the leverage necessary to wrap her legs around his hips. Locking her ankles behind his back she squirmed enticingly against him, thoroughly enjoying the mental hiss of pleasure her wriggling prompted from him.  
  
"Cat..." he murmured against the column of her throat as he blazed a trail of kisses down to the hollow of her neck and flickered his tongue in the dip. The rough timbre of his voice pulsed through her. Panting, she rocked against him and pulled his head up for another deep, searing kiss. His strong hands kneaded her hips as she shimmied against him and, irritated by the obstruction, she ripped the front of his shirt open to give herself access to his chest.  
  
His reaction to her primal move was to immediately grasp her hips and firmly thrust his body up against hers. The thin blockade of her panties and his pyjama bottoms did little to muffle the exquisite sensation and if she hadn't been so busy kissing him she would have screamed in pleasure. Her hands were just sliding down the planes of his chest to attack the offending garments when a silvery chime broke into their reverie and caused them both to freeze.  
  
Their minute was up.  
  
*~*~*~*~*  
  
"Now that I know what I'm without, You can't just leave me. Breathe into me, and make me real." - Bring Me to Life, DD soundtrack, Evanescence  
  
*~*~*~*~*  
  
*CHAPTER NOTES*  
  
1. "In secret we met - in silence I grieve. That thy heart could forget, thy spirit deceive..." Lord Byron, When We Two Parted  
  
2. Um...yeah. I SO earned my R rating with this chapter. A little gratuitous snogging never edged up anyone's rating, right? *looks around nervously* Right?  
  
3. Where'd Tempio Assanti come from? Absolutely nowhere, I just thought it sounded cool. At most, a variation of the Spanish word 'tiempo' which means time.  
  
4. A HUGE THANKS to my reviewers! My inspiration to beat my muse into submission and refuse to let writer's block keep me down came from your fantastic remarks! 


	7. Taking Over Me

Author's note: I can not thank you all enough for your patience. The support of your emails and reviews really made the difference in fending off writer's block. Now, on to the show...  
  
Chapter 7: Taking Over Me  
  
Breaking off their kiss regretfully, she took a deep shaky breath. "That was a minute?" she asked unsteadily as she took stock of how much they'd managed to accomplish in such a little time.  
  
"I gave us five minutes," he said unapologetically as he eased her down off his body and set her feet on the floor. They looked at each other in silence for a long minute before each taking a step back.  
  
"Miss Granger," he said quietly with a nod before grabbing his wand off the table and turning his back to her to compose himself.  
  
"Professor Snape," she replied in the same even tone as she secured the dressing gown's tie around her waist once more. Pressing a hand to her flushed cheek, she sank into a nearby chair.  
  
"Sartor Resartus," He muttered as he pointed the wand at his massacred top.  
  
"Why do you use that spell instead of Repairo?" she asked to fill the awkward silence.  
  
"I have my clothes custom made," he replied matter-of-factly as he manually buttoned the shirt. The spell could have fastened it automatically, but he found the action a welcome distraction as he tried to calm his racing pulse. "Repairo is less than exact in its attention to fine detail. The Guild of Mystical Seamstresses created the Sartor Resartus spell to replace it when repairs were needed for custom tailored clothes."  
  
"Sartor Resartus..." she repeated to herself as she mentally translated the words. "The tailor patched...How fitting."  
  
"Indeed," he said tonelessly as he moved over to his armoire to retrieve some fresh clothes. He considered wearing his more comfortable weekend robes for a moment, but with a quick glance toward the statue of a woman watching him intensely from the other side of the room, he reached instead for his most austere teaching robes. The look on her face when he turned back to her was bemused, but understanding. He obviously wasn't the only one who felt the need to reestablish some much-needed distance.  
  
Conjuring an opaque screen to shield himself from her chocolate eyes, he cast several freshening spells and quickly changed into more acceptable attire. "Tell me, Miss Granger," he said as he banished the screen, "what do you know about Chakras from your extra-curricular research?"  
  
She found the reappearance of his "Professor Snape" persona was more difficult to bear than expected. Swallowing past the heavy lump in her throat, she tamped down the unfamiliar pain until it sat in uneasy ball in the bottom of her stomach. "Chakra is a Sanskrit word meaning wheel or vortex." She cleared her throat at the raspy sound of her voice. "It refers to each of the seven energy centers which our consciousness, our energy system, is composed of." Loosing herself in the familiar act of instruction, she stood up and began to pace as she explained.  
  
"These Chakra centers function as pumps and valves, regulating the flow of energy throughout our system. While not a physical manifestation, they're aspects of consciousness in the same way that the auras are - just denser. They interact with the physical body through two major vehicles: the endocrine and the nervous systems. Each of the seven Chakras is associated with one of the major endocrine glands, and also with a group of nerves called a plexus. This association relates to particular parts of the body and specific functions within the body controlled by that plexus or endocrine gland." Sitting down at the table, he watched in amusement as she gesticulated wildly throughout her speech to illustrate her meaning. Leaning covertly back in his chair just in time to avoid a flailing limb, he swallowed a chuckle at her inadvertent and unnoticed attack on his person. The closest anyone had gotten to hitting him in years, and it was completely unintentional. Oh the irony.  
  
Unaware of how much entertainment she was providing him, she continued waving her arms, "All senses, perceptions, possible states of awareness, and everything that can be possibly experienced can be divided into seven categories. Each category is associated with a particular Chakra. Thus, the Chakras represent not only particular parts of your physical body, but also aspects of your consciousness."  
  
Musing that there was no telling how long she'd continue if left unchecked, he caught her wrist as it swung by him on her next turn past the table. A bolt of heat shot through her at the sensation of his warm fingers circling her skin and her dialogue screeched to a halt. Blinking in surprise at his unexpected move, she found herself incapable of doing anything but gaping at him in shock.  
  
Belatedly, it occurred to him that touching her was still a very bad idea. A warm pulse of electricity tingled between them where his skin touched hers. "That's enough, Miss Granger," He said as he released her hand. "Have a seat." Numbly, she obeyed his command and settled herself back across the table from him. Pouring them both more tea, he took a deep breath before speaking again. "Your research on the subject seems quite exhaustive. If I'd allowed you to continue I'm sure you would have enumerated each of the Chakra centers titles and associations, correct?" Looking up from his cup to see her nod in affirmative, he took a drink and continued, "The only ones we'll be utilizing for our spell are the fourth, fifth, and sixth centers: Anahata, Vishudda, and Ajna. Performing Kundalini will pinpoint the exact chakral locations, allowing us to cast the binding charm linking those centers of Empathy, Consciousness, and Perception. The activating spell for the charm is Siddhis. Once cast, we will simultaneously touch the centers with our hands and name the three Chakras we'll be binding together in order, ending in the center of the chest at Anahata." Pausing to take another sip of tea to soothe his dry throat, he continued, "At that point, there should be some indication that the nexus linkage was successful." Squinting down at the open book still laying on the table, he smirked. "I can only hope that this 'sign' doesn't entail any explosions. The book is unspecific as to what we'll experience and I prefer my personal workroom unmarred."  
  
Intrigued by the knowledge that they'd be performing this ritual in his private lab, which to her knowledge had never been seen by student eyes, she leaned forward for a better view of the text. "Once we gather the rest of the potion's ingredients, none of this should pose much of a problem," she said contemplatively as she skimmed the passage. "But I'm still a little unclear about the end result. In layman's terms, what exactly does all this do - besides provide us with some unwelcome body art? I know you said we'd be constantly aware of each other's position, but how far does that go? And will this new magical tattoo be affected by the one you already posses?"  
  
Downing the remainder of his tea with a quick swallow, he carefully set the cup back on the table before answering with a sneer. "Layman's terms? Have I finally succeeded in over-taxing your vaunted powers of comprehension, Miss Granger? A note-worthy day indeed..." One eyebrow rose at her mockingly. "I do believe I explained this all once already. How far must I go in simplifying to facilitate your understanding?"  
  
*Sarcastic bastard.* She thought at him with exasperated fondness as she replied derisively aloud, "Try second year Ravenclaw. Barring that, you're welcome to revert to first year Slytherin if I still fail to grasp the concept to your satisfaction."  
  
Making a sour face at the underhand dig at his house, he took a calming breath. "Fine, then," He said finally with a newfound seriousness that belied his earlier teasing. Straightened in his chair, he continued, "As black and white as I can make it: The Bridge of Ether can only be dissolved by the death of both parties. Should one of us die that person would remain tied to this plane as a ghost until the other passes. Once we're both dead the Bridge is dissolvable and we're free unless we choose otherwise."  
  
"Choose otherwise?" she interjected curiously.  
  
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he replied, "One of the main reasons this spell is used so sparingly is its permanence. As I said before, it's performed almost exclusively by couples with an intimate connection - be it love or friendship. It's far too dangerous to do otherwise. Should love turn to hate or friendship be betrayed, there is no escape from this Bond. As such, the few who consider this spell an option and are able to cast it to completion are so close that they often choose not to be separated by even death..."  
  
Frowning, she contemplated his words. "You make it sound as if the failure rate in attempting this spell is high..."  
  
Meeting her eyes, she could feel his apprehension through the link. "Do not mistake me, Hermione - I meant to imply exactly that. The spell will not allow people who are inherently unsuited to one another to be coupled. I presented this as an option only because the Headmaster was pressing the Sumpsuchos ritual onto us, hoping that the forces behind the incantation will recognize our existing connection and deem it acceptable. He may've manipulated me into offering this as an alternative, but I have no doubt Professor Dumbledore is as aware of the odds we face as I."  
  
"I'm certain you didn't mention that before," she said in accusation. Chewing on her bottom lip, she mulled over the ramifications of what he'd just told her. Looking up suddenly, she caught his eyes. "You called me Hermione."  
  
Nonplussed by her random comment, it took him a moment to catch up. "That's your name, isn't it?" he asked in consternation.  
  
"One of them," she smirked as she rose from her seat and rounded the table. Watching her approach with suspicious eyes, he stiffened in place as she pushed the table out of the way and slid into his lap.  
  
"Cat..."He gulped out in a strangled voice, too surprised by her unexpected actions to stop her.  
  
"That's another one," she murmured in amusement as she lay her head against his shoulder and swung her legs out across the edge of the chair. Forced to move his arm from the rest or have her legs trap it beneath them the flummoxed man found his hand settling on her hip, effectively caging the girl in a loose embrace. Snuggling against the base of his neck, the heat from her breath warmed his skin as she spoke, "I doubt very seriously compatibility will be a problem for us. What else?"  
  
"You do realise," he said as coldly as he could manage, "that my calling you Hermione was just a verbal slip and NOT an invitation..."  
  
"I prefer to think of it as Freudian," she replied sedately as she raised a hand to his chest and pressed it above the place his heart was beating a frantic thump. "Calm down, Severus. I'm not going to molest you."  
  
The sheer ridiculousness of that statement startled a guffaw out of him. "Molest me? As if I were some nervous Victorian virgin on her wedding night..." The tension flowed out of him with his chuckle and he laced his hands together at her waist. Shaking his head, he settled his chin on top of her crown of honeyed curls ruefully. "Weren't we supposed to be avoiding this type of inappropriate behaviour?"  
  
"Surely you can't mean your chivalrous comforting of an understandably distraught pupil?" she asked in mock innocence. "Who could fault you for that?" He laughed quietly at the mental picture of wide-eyed virtue she projected to him. "The Headmaster?" he replied with a snicker in his voice. "I died, Sev." She responded with wry humour, "If he weren't the type of man that that would earn us some leeway with, you'd be in Azkaban right now."  
  
"Impertinent chit," he snorted into her hair. "Antiquis temporibus, nati tibi similes in rupibus ventosissimis exponebantur ad necem." *In the good old days, children like you were left to perish on windswept crags.*  
  
"Oh yeah? Well - Caesar si viveret, ad remum dareris." *If Caesar were alive, you'd be chained to an oar.* Chuckling against his shirt, she added, "You do realise switching languages does you no good. If you speak it, even if I didn't know the language before, I would understand it. And my Latin's not bad to begin with. Now, get back to explaining the Bridge of Ether before I decide to take offense to the fact that you just called me a child."  
  
Rolling his eyes at what he deemed an absurd remark, he leered down at her. "You don't scare me, Little Girl." Looking up at his trademark expression as he loomed over her, a wicked smile spread across her face. He found himself shifting uncomfortably at the husky timbre of her voice when she replied, "If I did decide to take offense and disprove your hypothesis, scaring you would be the last thing on my mind."  
  
Taking a deep calming breath, he reached up and tapped the tip of her nose with his finger. "Be good," he admonished her as forced himself to focus on the ritual they were ostensibly discussing. "If the spell accepts us..."  
  
"WHEN the spell accepts us," she corrected.  
  
Rolling his eyes again, he ignored her and continued. "ASSUMING the spell accepts us, the stabilization it affords will nullify the distance requirements we're currently experiencing." Reaching over her and across the table, he dragged the book over so they could both read it. "The best example I've found describing what the bond is like from an insider's perspective was a quote from Marlain the Red, who participated in the Bridge with her husband..." Flipping swiftly through the pages, he was quick to locate the passage, "Ah, here it is: 'From that moment on, he was always with me. Nor was there a distance that could bar me from his side. His thoughts, his feelings, his very existence were mine...just as mine were now shared with him.'" He cleared his throat uneasily at the picture that painted. "There are spells, of course, that will allow us a small degree of control. Certain shielding techniques will also be useful..." Sagging regretfully, he leaned his head back on the chair. "Useful, but none of them will be completely successful. The very nature of what we are attempting prohibits it. I fear we are caught between the very definition of a rock and a hard place. You know firsthand the types of activities I'm subjected to in my role as a spy. By default, you would now be a party to those acts of depravity as well."  
  
"Whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling..." She murmured a line from an old e.e. cummings poem before biting her bottom lip fretfully.  
  
He cringed at the endearment, but nodded tiredly. "Exactly. For all that you will lack control over my actions, you will still have to endure them. I am the only spy the Order has in the Dark Lord's inner circle. It is not a role I can cast off with impunity or a source of information we can afford to lose." Easing her back from him, he tilted her chin up to meet his eyes. "The question becomes then, can you endure it? Because if not, we need to begin searching for other alternatives." Sighing regretfully, he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Truthfully, I don't think I fully considered the ramifications of this spell before I offered it as a solution." Meeting her eyes again, he smiled self-mockingly, "Trying to out manoeuvre Albus has a tendency to leave me off balance, and never seems to have the outcome that I would like."  
  
She smiled weakly back at him. "I don't think out manoeuvreing him is possible, actually. He just likes to make us think it is." The feeble grin melted off her face like butter. "Are there any alternatives that you can think of? Even Sumpsuchos is beginning to sound less frightening..."  
  
With a pained grimace, he considered. Finally he answered with a resolved sigh, "If we had a year, or even a month, I can think of several options. As it is, from Poppy's diagnosis I fear we have only days before being separated by more than inches becomes not only unbearable but impossible."  
  
"So we are back to where we started. Be married for eternity or be forced to suffer through the torture and murder of innocent people." She spat out unhappily, "Gee, which to choose?"  
  
"On the bright side, I am not exactly trusted by either faction," he said almost hopefully. "It's entirely possible I may be dead well before the year is out." She leaned back and gaped at him in horror. He shrugged unapologetically. "If you choose the Bridge I'll at least know in advance and have the opportunity to weaken the wards against ghosts. Then you'll be free and I'll still be able to continue my spying activities without having to harm anyone."  
  
She wasn't even aware of telling her hand to move, but the next thing she knew her palm was stinging and the side of his face was red from her vicious slap. "Don't you dare even say such a thing!" She raged as she leapt out of his lap.  
  
The planes of his face smoothed into blocks of ice as he stared at her coldly. The arctic waves of his sudden anger crashed through the link into her burning fury as he rose slowly from the chair to tower over her. "Don't I dare?" he sneered angrily down at her. "Just like a Gryffindor to refuse to acknowledge the most expedient solution simply because it offends her fragile sensibilities."  
  
"FRAGILE!" She sputtered in outrage as she yelled in his face, "You, you condescending BASTARD! Don't you even talk about getting yourself killed like it's NOTHING! As if your death would be of no importance!" In sheer frustration she began beating her fists against his chest.  
  
"As long as I'm getting the job done, what does it matter!" he screamed back as he caught her flailing arms and trapped her against his chest. "IT MATTERS TO ME!" she screeched as she struggled in his hold.  
  
"Insolent bint!" he snarled as she writhed against him. "Poncey git!" she growled back as she grabbed handfuls of his robes near the collar as if to shake him. "PONCEY?!" He roared in outrage, "I'll show you PONCEY!" Snaking an arm around her, he pulled her entire body flush against his and tangled his other hand roughly in her hair, yanking her head back to accept him before attacking her mouth. She bucked against him like a wild thing, indignantly trying to force him away. When it became apparent that no amount of force she possessed would dislodge him, she counter attacked. Teeth gnashed against teeth and tongues fought a desperate battle for dominance. Neither was sure who softened first (surely it must have been the other!), but before long the bites became nips and his bruising grip had melted into a caress. Easing finally away from one another with soft kisses, they were both panting as he pressed his lips against her forehead and unknotted his fingers from her curls.  
  
"If we keep doing that, Sumpsuchos may get chosen for us," he chuckled sardonically into her hair. Resting her head against his chest as her breathing slowed, the rapid pulse of his heart seemed to thrum through her body. Wrapping her arms around him, she whispered seriously into his chest, "I'm not ready to be married to anyone for this life, let alone the rest of eternity."  
  
"I know," he sighed as he ran a soothing hand down her back. "Me either."  
  
"That's it then, the Bridge of Ether it is," she said resolutely. "Are you sure you can handle it?" He asked quietly. "If you can, I can," she snapped back. He stiffened in her arms at the tone and she sighed. Shaking her head, she took a deep breath, "I'm sorry, Severus. That was uncalled for. Truthfully I don't know, but I have to try. Depending on how the Bridge actually works once we put it into practice, this may turn out to be quite a coup for the Order." Looking up to see the eyebrow he'd quirked questioningly at her, she shrugged and continued. "Now instead of one spy, they have two. I can relate to the Headmaster anything of importance before you even leave the Revel."  
  
He took a deep breath and held it thoughtfully before releasing it in an even stream. "A fine idea. Too often have there been instances where lives could have been saved if only I'd been able to escape that bastard Lucius sooner."  
  
"Just promise me one thing," she said so earnestly that he found himself looking down into her eyes once again. "Promise me that you won't throw your life away." He opened his mouth to speak but got no farther than her name before she silenced him with a finger to the lips. "I know you can't promise not to die. We're in the middle of a war, casualties happen." She laughed harshly, "I know that first hand! Just promise that if you can find a way to get out alive for me you will."  
  
Reaching up, he kissed the finger she still held against his lips and lowered it. Searching her eyes, he took a moment to revel in the concern, worry, and affection the bond leaked from her mind to his. Pressing the hand he held over his heart, he nodded solemnly. "I promise."  
  
"That's all I ask," she said softly as she lay her head once more against his shoulder. "That's all I ask..."  
  
"I have to be with you to live, to breathe; you're taking over me." - Taking Over Me, Fallen, Evanescence  
  
CHAPTER NOTES:  
  
1. Hermione's Chakra information lifted almost verbatim from The Brofman Foundation for the Advancement of Healing's website. In an attempt to circumvent FF.net's tendency to remove website addresses from stories, I've added asterisks to the address. To visit them, just remove the *'s: h*t*t*p*://w*w*w*.h*e*a*l*e*r*.c*h*/i*n*d*e*x*.h*t*m*l  
  
Severus' pulled from: h*t*t*p*://*s*i*v*a*s*a*k*t*i*.*c*o*m*/*a*r*t*i*c*l*e*s*/*t*h*e*- *s*e*v*e*n*-*c*h*a*k*r*a*s*-*a*j*n*a*.*h*t*m*l  
  
2. i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart) is the e.e. cummings poem quoted by Hermione and can be found here: h*t*t*p*://*w*w*w*.*k*-*b*- *c*.*c*o*m*/*p*o*e*t*r*y*_*e*e*c*.*h*t*m 


End file.
